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ABROAD 
WITH THE BOYS 



BY 

FRANCES REPPLIER WELLENS 




BROADWAY PUBLISHING CO. 

835 Broadway, New York 

BRANCH OFFICES: WASHINGTON, BALTIMORE 

INDIANAPOLIS, NORFOLK, DES MOINES, IOWA 






Copyright, 191 i. 

By 

Broadway Publishing Company. 



41 M 

'CI.A303601 



TO MY MOTHER 



Abroad With the Boys 



first day out. 

Dear Daddy: 

Thank you ever and ever so much for this lovely 
book. I found it, with the fountain pen, in our 
state-room when I returned from dinner just now, 
and I start to do as you have asked me to do — to 
share my trip with you and the girls — and I hope 
when the book comes back to you we can live over 
every hour of the trip together. And as for the 
fountain pen! Words cannot express my joy, 
because I was so glad to be taken along that I just 
agreed with everything Walter suggested, and 
when he said I should have to share his fountain 
pen, I just replied : "Very well," which means 
that economy in luggage can be carried too far. 

The simplicity of our luggage is really delightful 
— just two enormous "hunting kits," as the Eng- 
lish call them, and my little black carryall that you 
know of old. I have one thing on, one off and one 
in the valise. And, really, I find it most luxurious 
not to be hampered with an overabundance of pos- 
sessions. Most of the women on board have 
garbed themselves in their seagoing clothes, and 

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it makes me wonder if all the staterooms have 
mirrors. 

The good-byes were simply distracting. To look 
over the edge of this enormous boat and see those 
wretched pale faces looking farewells was almost 
more than I could stand, and I felt more than 
delighted that your forethought sent me this book 
and not a wharf good-bye. 

I'm going to be one of the boys, and my great- 
est wish on this, my first trip abroad, is that Walter 
shall not be sorry he brought me along. But I'm 
all at sea at present. I love this German ship, and 
it's so exciting to select something to eat (merely 
being guided by the fool name on the menu), with- 
out being prejudiced by the price attached. Every- 
thing is apparently of the same value, and even the 
wonderful creations composed of foodstuffs and 
paper flags, displayed on the buffet table as the 
first impression of the sumptuous repast, all have 
some outlandish fancy name and some new and 
wonderful sensation of taste. 

When I remarked as a starter for conversation 
that the boat was wonderfully full of people one 
of the men at our table said to me in a most insinu- 
ating way: "J^st wait; you'll see." I'll tell you 
later what he meant. 



SECOND DAY. 

I was perfectly overjoyed with my bath this 
morning. I love the good substantial handles to 

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hold on to in the bath-tubs. The water comes out 
of the spigot with the force and volume of a fire 
plug. The towels are fearfully scratchy and fully 
two yards and a half square, and the nonchalant 
way the people parade the corridors in their bath 
wrappers is awfully funny. Should a booby beauty 
prize be donated, I should love to vote for a certain 
something I saw this morning in dark red flannel 
pajamas with slippers to match. He carried a dear 
little grip, presumably of toilet articles, and his 
hair was a sight and he needed a shave. 

I put my other dress on last evening — the one 
cut long in the train and low in the neck, and 
when Walter asked the men at our table to join us 
in one of the little cafes after supper, I felt glad 
I had urged the necessity of taking that other dress 
along. We became quite w^ell acquainted, and, 
after the coffee cups had been taken away from 
the absolutely stationary little table, we all sought 
one of those sit-around benches and tried to outdo 
each other in solitaires. 

There is a Portuguese solitaire Fm going to teach 
you when I come home. That was the specialty of 
the grandpa of our party. He is a fine-looking 
man, who hails from Chicago, and, like most of 
his fellow passengers, is an importer. He was 
the one who suggested telling ages, and started by 
saying: "No one takes me for fifty-two," and 
Walter, who falls into games like that, told how 
near he was to forty. But when it came to my 
turn, I was not to be caught that way. I turned 
it off with a story. It was that famous ground- 

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hog story of mine, fhat no one ever seems to quite 
believe until I come almost to the end. It sug- 
gested animal stories, and it therefore started a 
new train of thought. 

One of the men, an importer of kid gloves, is 
most generous in imparting information. He told 
us most interesting things about the making of 
skins, and when he informed me that young goats 
were always born twins, I suggested that that was 
most appropriate, as they ended their days still 
being a pair of kids — one for each hand. Wasn't 
it stupid of him to have never thought of that 
before? Or else, perhaps, he was just being a 
gentleman. He told us that in some of the moun- 
tain countries the peasant people who raise our 
gloves for us show such consideration and respect 
for their bread-winners that the young kids sleep 
huddled up with the children. 

The people fairly live on goats' milk and they 
even eat the young kids after their skins have been 
sold to the parish priest, who is the chief collector 
of these precious pelts, and who, in turn, sells them 
to the glove-makers. Take a good look at your 
gloves and think of this, and be glad you don't live 
among the goats. I thank you heartily for it also. 

Isn't it lovely when great big steins of delicious 
beer are served in the evening in the little Vienna 
Cafe? The steward puts down before us a large 
platter full of delightful little sandwiches, all with 
their lids off, so that they may be seen without 
having to peep in sideways. 



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THIRD DAY. 

There was delightful excitement fearfully early 
this morning, and everybody on board who wasn't 
too old or too young was up and dressed at three 
A. M. to watch the tender coming from Plymouth, 
weighted with Prince Henry, brother of the Kaiser. 
Several others far less important, beside the enor- 
mous touring car belonging to the Prince added 
to our ship's load. It really was quite wonderful 
to watch that colossal thing on a little platform of 
its own being hoisted up by good strong derricks 
and being landed right in the middle of the only 
recreation deck the steerage people had. And then 
the mean part of it was, its being covered so 
securely with canvas, so that the people whose deck 
it almost filled could not even examine it. 

One of the men in our party was starting his 
trip the English way, and so we lost him here at 
Plymouth. I was sorry to a certain extent, because 
that man never failed with a good story when the 
others appeared to be rather talked out. Another 
thing America gave up at Plymouth was millions 
of dollars worth of silver bars, soon to be made 
into English money. Everybody drank coffee in 
the brilliantly lighted dining room, just as if it 
were the regular and proper hour to be doing such 
things. I couldn't help but think how awfully 
stupid it must have been for the stewards. After 
that I went regularly to bed again — hairpins and 
all — and waited for the real day. 

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There is an insinuating way the ship people have 
of putting signs around "bewareing" all innocents 
of professional gamblers. I have played solitaire 
so much, and double Canfield with so many differ- 
ent partners, that I almost feel like explaining to 
the steward that I am not one of the kind the 
signs refer to. 

Somebody warned me that it was considered a 
great offense to take a picture of the shores of 
France — ^they are so secretive about their harbor. 
But, even so, I had my camera out with me nice 
and early, and, while I thrilled with the joy of see- 
ing Cherbourg, I took the risk and snapped a pic- 
ture of the place. Madame Lillian Nordica left 
our ship here, and, as she descended the gang- 
plank, once more I squeezed the bulb. She looked 
quite lovely and was most picturesque carrying a 
basket of flowers. 

I have always admired people who could grace- 
fully tote around unimportant things and appear 
to like it. If she had been selling those same 
blooming things on the corner of a market place 
I wonder how she would have liked it. 



[10] 



ZITTAU, IN SAXONY. 

I'm here, Father. I'm in Europe. I haven't 
lost my sea legs as yet and I still feel wobbly, and 
I have already completely comprehended the sen- 
sation of being an ignorant foreigner. Everybody 
is talking the same outlandish language, except 
Walter and two of his friends, who will be with 
us for some weeks yet. Fortunately, they remem- 
ber some English. If it were not for that I am 
sure I should starve. The room that has been 
assigned to us in this, the best hotel in Zittau, is 
supposed to be rather the choice of the pick of 
rooms because a King at some time or other had 
slept there. The room is very large, very quiet, 
very dark, with brown hangings and old-fashioned 
parlor furniture. There is a high bed, with layers 
of feather beds that one can exercise his own dis- 
crimination as to using for mattress, bolster or 
coverings. Surely there are enough of them to 
choose from. 

The windows are high, with four layers of cur- 
tains and there are two wall-paper doors that lead 
somewhere. The place is awfully "scarey," and 
looks for all the world like the stage setting for 
some "cheap and nasty" at the National. I think 
I must be the lady comedienne in the drama, be- 
cause these people here either have an unusually 
merry disposition or else there is something awfully 

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funny about me. I thought at first my face was 
dirty, but when I looked in the glass I decided it 
wasn't that, but that I looked for all the world like 
a "green horn" in a new place, as a young Polish 
girl might look who has taken the responsibilities 
of someone else's light housework, with the hopes 
that she might learn the language. 

Walter has left me here, to make myself per- 
fectly "at home." I have been trying to make 
things cheerful, by noticing the effect of our tooth- 
brushes on a huge ice-cold wash-stand, with two 
pitchers and basins. My top-coat and furs on one 
of the outlandish upholstered affairs at the end of 
the room have a familiar look but not a homelike 
one. The big double doors are just a little open 
and I sit here expectant that every minute the 
next person to arrive on the scene will do a song 
and dance. 

I am running a little too far ahead with the trip. 
I didn't even let you land with me at Bremer- 
haven. From there we travelled in a delightful 
little railroad carriage to Bremen, and all along 
the road every place was cultivated. Just imagine, 
these thrifty German people wouldn't waste one lit- 
tle bit of land. Great big sugar beets seem to be 
the thing in season, and everywhere you look you 
can't miss the sight of some peasant person — usu- 
ally petticoated — tugging at one of these great 
heavy vegetables. The people have to stoop so 
much it doesn't seem to be worth while to 
straighten up between stoops, and all the workers 
seem to be bent upon their occupation. Pardon that. 

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In Bremen we went to the Rathskeller. It was 
quite the most delightful hole in the ground I have 
ever entered. The sunshine came over the edge 
of the street, and through a little window in a long 
ray of light to the very table where we were sit- 
ting. The smoke in the place was heavy, and 
everybody seemed happy. The glasses were like 
little squatty goblets, with strings of red glass 
wound round and round them, and the wine and 
the sandwiches were delicious. Then I could not 
help watching three young boys near us, who 
matched for the paying of the drinks in a most 
amusing way. All three would hold their hands 
in a fist. They would then raise their hands three 
times and then stop quick. The odd man had to 
pay — ^that is, the one who didn't have his thumb 
up if the others did, or the one who had his thumb 
up if the others didn't. 

Isn't it funny. Daddy, all the men carry canes 
after they are old enough to be even office boys. 
Just so they are wage-earners, they feel more 
dressed up and important with a cane. This Raths- 
keller is a dreadfully old place. Hundreds of years 
ago people drank their wine just there where I was, 
and hundreds of others are going to take a turn 
at it after I finish. 

We visited the old Cathedral also, and saw 
plenty of statues of Roland. We also viewed 
nearly all the shops, with their low-cut windows. 
You could stand on the sidewalk and look down an 
area way into a basement display of windows. 
After we had seen the wonderful Bleikeller, or 

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"mummy house," as George S. called it, we took 
a long" sleepy ride to Hamburg, where we were to 
change cars for Berlin. The guard locked George 
S., Grandpa, Walter and myself in a little travelling 
room, and then went off to the platform to call out 
"Abfart!" That means "go ahead!" Grandpa 
felt called upon to entertain the party, just as if 
everyone wasn't entirely relieved of every good 
story that had ever been in their systems, and, as 
we sat four abreast looking at the "no smoking" 
sign, he started one good long tale about a man 
named Foley who asked if he could go with him 
on one of his trips three years ago. He told how 
this same Foley had acquired money late in life, 
and how he was such a dressy party. He told us 
how Foley wore a passionate pink shirt, and would 
insist upon wearing his derby on the back of his 
head. I tried to remember I was a lady — so I 
listened to his long discourse on the undesirable 
v/ays of Foley until he was at the part of the story 
where the obnoxious travelling companion was 
making himself unpleasant to the police on the steps 
of the Opera House in Paris. And it was at this 
point I heard Walter snore. I was terribly morti- 
fied but somewhat relieved to see George S. in a 
somewhat similar state of blissful unconsciousness. 
I tactfully suggested to Grandpa that we would all 
probably be "on the go" most of the evening, and 
why not take the practical advice in the example 
of the others. I awoke later on, myself, because 
my arm was asleep. I heard Walter in the most 
nonchalant tone, remarking: "And what did be- 

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come of Foley?" And Grandpa evidently thought 
I was sound asleep because what he said wasn't 
meant to be in the story. 

I almost forgot to tell you about poor little 
Marianna Murphy, an acquaintance on the ship. 
It was just about five o'clock on the fourth day out, 
and the men were all busy talking business. I 
thought I would go downstairs to see if Madame 
Nordica might be doing a little practising before 
it was time to get ready for supper. 

On a big, soft blue plush divan, on the balcony 
overlooking the dining-room, sat about as pale a 
young girl as I have ever seen. I remembered that 
the last time I had seen her was when she was 
looking a long good-bye to a fine, big healthy 
Irishman, who waved a red handkerchief wildly 
in the air when he might have been soaking up a 
few great big real tears that just ran down and 
splashed. It was the memory of that honest face 
on land that made me feel so sorry for the little 
white one at sea. So I w^ent up to her, and asked 
her if she was saving the place beside her for any- 
one. Poor child — I knew she wasn't. She had 
been dreadfully seasick, and she didn't like walk- 
ing around very much. Like myself, it was her 
first trip, and she, too, was greatly impressed with 
the enormous depth, width and wetness of the 
ocean. To-day she had her first look at it. I asked 
her (just to see if she had any sense of humor), 
if she didn't think Columbus must have had won- 
derful nerve. (I, myself, never forgot Columbus 
for an entire day during my whole trip.) I told 

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her that I used to think that the championship for 
nerve belonged to the man who ate the first oyster, 
but now I realized the laurels had never fallen 
from Columbus. Daddy, she possessed a fine sense 
of humor, and she smiled a sweet sort of smile, 
and I really learned to like the girl. She wore a 
fearfully hobbled skirt, and she had paid for most 
of her hair. Her hat was one of those affairs that 
are worn pulled firmly down around the head. She 
also wore artificial violets — seasick as she had been, 
poor child, she was so dressy. 

The girl was going abroad to meet her "moth- 
er's folks," as she called them. She had spent five 
long years in the "Sisters' " school getting ready 
for this great event, and she had a fine collection 
of pretty little convent manners and school-book 
French. She was also well supplied with enthusi- 
asm, anticipation and self-assurance. It seemed 
that her mother had been a French milliner, and a 
little saved money and over-estimated ambition had 
tempted her to dream of her own millinery shop 
in the wonderful America — paved full of money 
and with all the women wanting hats. And when 
the sad truth became known — that the sheriff just 
had to sell out her little shop — she realized her 
eyes were too pretty to cry very long about it. So 
when good honest Michael Murphy asked the little 
"Frenchy" to share his income and name and come 
live in the dear little boarding house near the big 
saloon where he tended bar, it seemed like a for- 
tune to one too pretty to work. 

As time wore on, and little Marlanna came to 

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town to inherit her mother's name, disposition and 
eyes, Michael's fortunes had increased until they 
owned their own home, with side entrance, chenille 
curtains and pretty painted jardinieres. Marianna 
the second had celebrated her sixteenth birthday 
and had made wonderful progress in the Sisters' 
school when the saddest thing that can happen to 
a girl happened to her. She lost her mother. Her 
chief inheritance proved to be a longing to go to 
France — to see the country where her mother had 
lived, to know her people, only to breathe the air 
that had nourished her mother. All the little 
charming graces and mannerisms that make a 
French woman so pleasing were hers. She is on 
her way to find her people. Isn't it sad. Daddy? 
She doesn't know where she is going. That girl 
has not a rap of sense and she has quantities of 
jewelry and seemingly an unlimited check-book. 
She is only eighteen years old and has no thought 
of a chaperone. She was, however, dreadfully 
depressed, chiefly from seasickness, but I think she 
is going to recover quickly. I hope her guardian 
angel keeps on the job, and I also hope she won't 
wish she had stayed at home with papa and the 
rubber plants when it is too late to get back. I 
shouldn't care to live over the saloon — but then, 
no one ever asked me to. She was used to it. 
I really shouldn't have filled up so many pages with 
Miss Murphy, Daddy, dear, when I have all of 
Berlin yet to tell you about. 



[17] 



BERLIN. 

It was dark when we reached the German capi- 
tal. We had had our supper on the train, and we 
went directly to the Hotel Esplanade, where I am 
afraid Walter's telegrams must have given the 
management the impression that we were million- 
aire honeymooners. Really, the rooms reserved for 
us made me feel afraid that if we were obliged to 
pay for them we would have to swim home. But, 
as luck would have it, neither Grandpa nor George 
S. could find a vacancy in any of the other hotels, 
so two little brass beds were put up in our elab- 
orate sitting room for them. Everybody took 
turns with the same bath-tub, and this put me on 
friendly terms with a variety of tooth pastes and 
fancy travelling soaps. So everyone was happy. 
I just have to mention it here, in case I should 
ever forget to tell the girls that one cover on the 
bed here suffices. It was a slippery blue satin effect, 
with an elaborately embroidered linen sheet but- 
toned on it, with lots and lots of buttons. Think 
of those buttonholes! But, dear knows, the beds 
didn't do me much good. I was out all the time. 

The best time to meet a beautiful city — to see 
the people who really love it^ — is to meet it after 
dark. The way those Germans do love Berlin, 
with its lovely gay way in the lamplight, is delight- 

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fill. About every fourth man is a soldier, and 
spurs and swords are as familiar sights as blonde 
moustaches and overgrown waist lines. And the 
beer! Oh, such beer! I'm fearfully afraid I will 
outgrow my meagre wardrobe on account of that 
beer, if it wasn't that it would never do to leave me 
alone in the hotel. I don't believe I would get so 
fat. 

Grandpa has seen it all before, and he has seen 
so many more birthdays than the rest of us that he 
keeps talking all the time that he is afraid I will 
be tired. That's his excuse. I just remember that 
I have the rest of my life to rest, and George S. 
has said so often: ''You are game, alright," that I 
quite feel as though I were "some pumpkins," and 
I prowl around with the other owls, and dear 
knows, I'm happy. 

Unter den Linden was not the linden trees I 
rather expected to find, but I never missed them, 
I was so excited looking at the flowers. Flowers 
were everywhere — even around the electric light 
poles there were flower boxes. I wondered who 
watered the plants, but nobody told me. Out of 
almost every window there is a flower box, and a 
friend of Walter's, who hails from New York and 
lives in Berlin, told me that in summer the city 
authorities offer prizes for the best-looking window 
boxes and gardens. What an incentive that is 
toward maintaining a city beautiful. 

Even the flat-bottomed canal boats laden with 
fruit are picturesque, and the canals themselves 
flowing through the city are simply exquisite. The 

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bridges that cross them are ornamented with beau- 
tiful statues and flower boxes. We saw some mas- 
terpieces in the Museum — original Van Dykes and 
Rubens — and each and every picture deserved as 
long a look as we were obliged to share with the 
entire collection. 

Women here sell flowers on the streets — rather 
gay bouquets for American taste — but here the 
people love flowers and even men may be seen 
carrying bunches of blooms wherever they go. 
Something struck me as being awfully funny, and, 
while I am among the flowers, I must mention it. 
The wife of the Berlin friend was having a birth- 
day, and before we went to the theatre that evening 
Walter thought he had better provide a native New 
Yorker with a large bunch of violets. Of course, 
there was one for me also, and, as the size of the 
bunch means so much in America, Walter ordered 
one about the size of a baby's head. It was served 
to us with a stem about three inches long from 
each violet, and made in a series of loose little 
bunches and tied with an uncertain string and with- 
out the silver foil or ribbon decorations we have 
grown to expect. I looked at those two enormous 
floppy affairs, and waited for an inspiration. But 
it didn't amount to much. It only resulted in lots 
of maidenhair fern outlining the edges, and not 
in any way helping the handle to be any firmer. 

I thought I needed three hat pins, but I found 
I was mistaken, for, after pinning one of those 
affairs securely to my chest, using a dangerous 
spike, my manners compelled me to offer still an- 

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other pin to the birthday lady. Hats often stay on 
better than you think they will. 

That was the night we went to the Wintergar- 
ten, and, if it hadn't been so damp and rainy out- 
side, I might have really thought we were in the 
open. The theatre is about the size of the New 
York Hippodrome and around the walls the lights 
are so very bright that the fearfully dark ceiling 
with tiny little electric stars that twinkle all the 
time make one almost certain to imagine that he 
is out of doors. 

I wonder what makes the Germans so hungry, 
because all through the performance food was be- 
ing served. Can you imagine an American woman 
in a low-necked dress with a long train sitting 
with a nice, smiling escort in his evening clothes at 
a little food-table in a theatre and drinking: beer 
and eatmg sausages and potato salad (with onions 
probably on the side) or maybe, even a cold roast 
beef sandwich that has to be picked up and eaten 
out of the hand to be thoroughly enjoyed? 

Oh, now, I hope I wasn't rude, but, really, 
Daddy, anyone would have laughed. Grandpa kept 
saying to me : ''Don't let these boys drag you any 
place after the theatre," and I said to him : *'You 
try to be game yourself," and all the time George 
S., (who, by the way, is of German descent and 
speaks the language like a native and seems to 
have almost as good a thirst), was telling Walter 
and his transplanted New Yorker that he knew of 
a lovely place where it was a crime to go to sleep. 
We met that place later on. In case you should 

[21] 



aiitoaD muti tf)t TBap0 



read this book to the girls, I am just going to put 
stars here, and take you over safely to the next 
day. After a hearty noonday meal at Kempinski's, 
where I ate a very baby chicken served in a little 
earthen pot that it was cooked in, and which was 
accompanied by a delicious sauce of stewed cher- 
ries and gooseberries that melted away as we ate it. 

The sauce was almost as nice as the young girl 
and her bestest one who sat at the same table with 
us who prettily murmured and blushed sweet Ger- 
man nothings all through the dinner. When this 
girl had finished she made such a pretty little bow 
to me I just loved her for being a lady. 

Then for a glorious afternoon in the sunshine 
and a taxicab. There was a little mirror in the 
taxi, and I could see my expression every now and 
then. Walter said he considered my joy worth 
the price of the whole trip. I wish I had been 
provided with an extra pair of eyes on the sides 
of my head. I could not see enough. The streets 
are the cleanest affairs I have ever seen and the 
long driveway through which we rode all too 
quickly was one delicious dream of beauty. 

The long, well-kept road led us past the palace, 
which is the Kaiser's town house, where the flag 
displayed showed he was at home. Nice plan that 
— isn't it? Then through the long drive made by 
the present ruler, where rows of statues, each in 
its own little nook and with its little sit-around 
stone bench and separate flower garden, are more 
than I can trust myself to talk about. Fountains! 
And long designs of flower beds that are constantly 

[22] 



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changed according to the season! These attract 
the eye in every direction. And then the homes 
of the people — all placed far enough back from the 
street to allow for a garden and a balcony, nearly 
always. 

Really I was so thrilled I almost wept. The 
drive leads through the extremely neat woods, 
where park guards are constantly on duty and the 
trees are planted with the regularity of a checker 
board. These trees are all kept trimmed of their 
lower branches, so that the sunset may peep 
through. And for every tree that grows crooked 
a chalk mark is put on it, which dooms it, and it 
must, therefore, go to make room for a perfect 
one in its place. Those trees reminded me of sol- 
diers somehow. I shall never forget that drive 
through the woods, and so many people seemed to 
have the leisure to enjoy the woods. I think the 
reason the people have so much time for real pleas- 
ure is because they don't waste time on clothes. 
The women are so much better looking than the 
things they get themselves up in, and they all seem 
to have a total lack of taste in the blending of color 
of their clothes, and yet they live in such a land of 
flowers. 

We went to Charlottenburg, and there left the 
taxi for awhile, for everybody is obliged to walk 
through the beautiful park there, as absolutely no 
vehicles are allowed on the grounds that led us to 
the mausoleum where the exquisite Louise, Queen of 
Prussia, lies under a gorgeous marble image of her- 
self and her form under its gauze-like marble veil 

[23] 



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is so beautiful and even her slender throat is fault- 
less. I was so anxious to see her throat because I 
have always been under the impression that the ma- 
line scarf she wears when she comes down the steps 
in the picture we all know best of her was worn 
to conceal a disfiguring goitre. As she lies there 
in the blue light in the cold marble tomb with her 
husband and parent, with the enormous Angel Ga- 
briel at the door, I really felt like asking her to 
forgive me for even thinking that gorgeous throat 
has been disfigured. 

The stores are better looking from an artistic 
point of view than the things they offer to sell. 
One of the stores has the most imposing entrance 
imaginable. It has a fountain with a mother bear 
in bronze and her two baby bears down where the 
water splashes. The flower boxes around the water 
are full of crisp pale pink heather. 

One day Walter and George S. were going to 
be busy all day, so Grandpa said he would take me 
to the Zoo. The entrance fee is probably the rea- 
son why only such aristocratic looking children were 
playing in the park part of it. The children all are 
barelegged and are splendid wholesome specimens. 
I just loved these little ones. The nurses looked 
like Christmas-tree ornaments with huge flowing 
caps and full-plaited, rather short skirts, with high 
boots and little narrow aprons. I'll tell you more 
about aprons later. 

When Grandpa said we would have dinner at the 
Zoological Garden I thought it would probably be 
big honey cakes and peanuts, but far from it. It 

[24] 



atJtoaa mith tbt tbop^ 



turned out to be a most elaborate repast, which took 
up lots of the afternoon. It was served in a pretty 
place, with hanging baskets of artificial things hang- 
ing around. Grandpa knows so much about ani- 
mals and he told me interesting stories about them. 
One thing he said was that monkeys were subject 
to tuberculosis. He spoke about the famous cross 
monkeys in Chicago, who were left outdoors when 
the other monks moved into winter quarters for the 
cold season. These cross monkeys. Grandpa says, 
were so fearfully cross that their keeper decided to 
let them freeze to death. 

The monkeys, however, not only did not freeze but 
they acquired a better disposition and an heir — and 
baby monkeys in captivity are scarce. Each year 
the monkey house was kept cooler and cooler and 
the monkeys soon showed much improvement in 
health. 

I saw a very pretty sight that afternoon, and, as 
luck would have it, my camera was in the hotel. 
It was a dear patient Great Dane mother dog bring- 
ing up some high-bred lady lioness' twins for her. 
A little baby leopard was with them also. The 
expression on the dog's face was beautiful, and I 
was hoping for her sake that she was not thinking 
of the time her foster children would grow up and, 
mayhap, eat her. I saw the young parents. They 
looked as if they might have been Lord and Lady 
Somebody. They were sitting on a huge stone 
bench, and, would you believe it. Daddy, they act- 
ually were exchanging soul kisses? 

I am still in Zittau, you know, dear Daddy, and 

[25] 



aftroaa mitb tht iBogg 



the great amount of leisure here is what has done 
so much for taking you and the girls with me in 
this book. I hope you will hke these pictures of 
the market place. Sometimes I wonder if my cam- 
era should play me false how I could ever picture to 
you these lovely scenes. I have just taken a pic- 
ture of the band, which is playing in the Market 
platz on a Sunday morning. The musicians are all 
soldiers and the crowd is standing near enough to 
be knocked with the outcoming end of a trombone. 
I loved to hear this band, and I moved up to it as 
close as anybody. George S. and Walter said they 
never knew Zittau was so lovely. They never had 
taken the trouble to look at anything but business 
men before and these specimens are far from pretty. 

I loved these nice Saxon people in their Sunday 
best listening to the music and enjoying it thorough- 
ly. Something made me think that the women 
either did not love music or else they hadn't fire- 
less cookers, because the crowd was made up mostly 
of men and children. The neck fixings of the men 
were particularly interesting. Each and every one 
fancied a different variety of ''dickey," and in some 
cases the waistcoat did not hide all the secrets it 
was supposed to keep from view. 

The soldier cap industry certainly does flourish 
here. Not only soldiers but schoolboys and also 
postmen and cabmen all wear the same style of cap 
— with just the difference in color to let each other 
know who they are, I suppose. 

I saw a crowd around a little church and I pre- 
tended it was the church I panted to see, but I 

I26]| . , 



afttoaa mith tbe iBop^ 



really wished to see if it was a wedding. I guessed 
aright. The guests in their party clothes at ii 
o'clock in the morning, with gay bouquets, feather 
boas and dress suits, arrived in twos at a time, and 
separated in the church at the lowest pew down, 
each couple going one place higher, until when the 
buxom bride and blushing blonde groom arrived, 
they walked up to their little flower-decked chairs 
between two rows of wedding guests. I never saw 
that done before — did you? (New York papers 
please copy.) 

Sunday afternoon I was given the wrong impres- 
sion as to how I was to see the beautiful moun- 
tains of Oybin and to look down on Zittau as a 
toy village. My impression was that I was to go 
up the mountain in a little train, but that is where 
I was mistaken. The little train had started long 
since, and Walter and George S. said they were 
sure I could walk it. The first two hours weren't 
half bad hanging onto the two men, and it was 
like living in a moving picture show where we 
walked between two long rows of real picture pos- 
tals. I told the boys about that absurd little verse 
of the Grump who went up in a balloon: 

Up, up and up, he mounted — 
Till he zvas far above the trees, 

And the houses looked like boxes — 
And the people seemed like fleas. 

It really was exquisite, and quaint little houses 
built on a hill. Houses that were never of the 
same height back and front and nearly always they 

[273 



afitoaD mub tfie T5op0 



were painted in two bright colors. I saw one which 
was an exquisite brown and its upstairs section a 
bright bird's Qgg blue. 

Everybody had a garden, and nearly everybody 
had one, two or more enormous glass balls of dif- 
ferent colors on high poles in among the flower 
beds. This is done to reflect the sunshine. As v e 
looked back on Zittau it looked like a play toy and 
in a little while we could not see it at all. Even the 
sunset was finishing for the day. The object in 
keeping on with the walk, I afterwards discovered, 
was to reach a certain little inn, called Wittigs- 
chenke, where we could rest a bit, and then we 
would be within a stone's throw of the upper end 
of the little railroad we didn't meet earlier in the 
afternoon. 

I had grown so tired my lips were blue, and cold 
sweat showed on my forehead. I couldn't even 
speak. I only smiled and remembered a story I 
had heard of a criminal who was walked until he 
confessed his crime from sheer exhaustion. Wal- 
ter told me afterwards he was terrible frightened 
about me, and George S., who had been to this lit- 
tle inn before, kept talking about the good qualities 
of the beer so I would not think of the bad features 
of the walk. The beer was really worth having 
when we finally did get it. With it also came nice 
clean bread and some very fine Schweitzer cheese. 

Even though it was Sunday afternoon the moun- 
tain people were having a mild sort of dance. Nice 
fresh young girls in cotton crepe empire dresses 
danced so slowly I wondered if they also were tired. 

[28] 



afiroan mitb tbt TSopg 



There are lots of linen factories up in the moun- 
tains and some of the working people have hardly 
ever even seen the town of Zittau. It isn't just be- 
cause I'm tired to-day, Daddy, that I feel so thank- 
ful I don't have to spend the rest of my life in 
Zittau. It's the way they treat the women. Would 
you believe it, these women even shovel coal. And 
the Park Guards, or cleaners, are extremely elderly 
females with layers of petticoats and with their 
heads tied up in little shawls. They wear wooden 
shoes, and their brooms are just a lot of faggots 
tied to a stick. I even saw old women dragging 
little wagons, sharing the burden with a large dog — 
milk-wagons especially. But it reached the extreme 
limit when I saw an old-time ox-cart being dragged 
along by two patient, elderly cows. The streets are 
so narrow, and there is no set rule as to who steps 
aside on the little one-man-wide sidewalk. 

I have grown to love this quiet little town of 
alleys and I have seen an awful lot of it. Walter 
is busy all the time here, and when we go out to 
walk in the moonlight everybody else seems to be 
asleep. 

I had my travel-soiled hair washed this morn- 
ing by the barber person who lived next door to 
the hotel. He is a skinny little Saxon with a 
scrappy yellow beard, and a fuzzy green Norfolk 
jacket. I led him to believe it was my hair I wanted 
washed when I entered his shop and he guessed as 
much when I showed him my brush and comb and 
cake of soap. The conversation was mostly "wig- 
wag" and I thought it most appropriate for a bar- 

[29] 



abtoan mub t&e 15050 



ber shop, but I couldn't tell him so. The little son 
and heir of the shop returned from school about 
noontime. He was led into the hair-washing de- 
partment by his grandmother, and he bestowed 
upon me a solemn handshake. I was afraid I would 
get soap in my eyes if I took a very long look at 
the child, so I just smiled some more "wigwag" 
talk. 

The barber person's keen delight was quite em- 
barrassing, as he watched with uncontrolled admira- 
tion the skill with which, with the aid of a well- 
washed switch, I could make my ninety-seven hairs 
appear to be two hundred and sixty. People here 
seem never to tire of my feet. I have always found 
them sufficient, but it seems here the women grow 
them more luxuriantly, and have firmer bases upon 
which to stand. I am perfectly contented with the 
size of mine, but they are not considered adequate 
by the natives here, and they choose to laugh at 
me. Americans do not often bring their wives to 
Zittau, and it seems I am a sort of curiosity. We 
spent the day in Reichenburg, to-day. It is in Bo- 
hemia, and the hotel is called the Goldene Lowen, 
and I sat quietly by the window with my tatting, 
while Walter conversed with the man he came to 
see. This person, thank goodness, can speak Eng- 
lish, and he smiles all the time, and he feels that I 
need nourishment. Therefore, a bottle of the most 
delicious sweet wine was placed on the window-sill 
beside me, with lots of the fanciest little fancy cakes 
I have ever met. We had a fish course with the 
dinner, and our host, who comes a four hours' ride 

[30] 



astoati mm tue i5op$ 



from a much higher spot in the mountains, tells 
us that his children, who stay in their native city, 
have never even seen a fish. Imagine being so far 
inland as all that. 

I have often wondered since if that man thought 
his wife required as many drinks as he seemed to 
think so essential to showing Walter's w4fe a nice 
time. I should be quite dead now if I had taken 
them all. With the aid of two near dead horses, 
we later on saw the town. I don't see how those 
poor old beasts ever managed to run up the cobble- 
stone hilly streets the way they did, unless it was, 
as I suggested to Walter, some one had just given 
them an oat. They didn't die, however, while I was 
around, and the place where we landed was called 
"Volks Garten," and lots and lots of chatty old and 
young and middle-aged females come there in the 
afternoon and run races with each other as to who 
knits fastest and to drink beer and listen to the 
music, thus accomplishing all three things at once, 
and seemingly having a very pleasant time. 

I was glad not to see those horses again. It was 
much nicer to walk past some beautiful homes and 
finally land at a place where the programme led 
me to believe was called the "Meiningees Variete." 
There was a stage at the end of the place, and lots 
and lots of little tables, so close together that the 
crooking of the arm made necessary by drinking 
the everpresent beer was more than apt to knock 
the arm of some one else doing the very same thing. 
The poor little painted ladies, who did their best 
to amuse, would edge their way among the tables 

[31] 



aiitoao mitb tf)e lBap0 



after their ''stunt" was over, trying to persuade 
people to buy their picture or book of songs. One 
man sang funny songs so well that, even though I 
didn't understand a word, I applauded as loud as 
anyone because he was so awfully funny. 



[32] 



VIENNA. 

It took us and our valises ten long hours to get 
here, and it was well worth the trip. There wasn't 
any dining car on the train, and while the boys and 
myself conversed about our ''gone" feelings, a sweet 
little foreign lady in the same compartment with 
us untied a lumpy looking bundle, which proved to 
be a lunch, and when she offered me a beautiful 
sandwich, and said in the most charming broken 
English I have ever heard: "Will you accept this?" 
I could have kissed her I was so glad. And as 
there was sufficient to go around, we all devoured 
them with the relish of a tramp at a back-door, and 
thus we all became well acquainted. 

I am so glad we met her, she was so charming. 
She was born in Vienna and lived in Gablonz, in 
Bohemia, where the paste jewelry is made. Her 
English was so perfectly lovely that it made me 
blush all over to remember my French and total 
lack of German. How much lovelier a woman is 
who takes the time to study. I wash I had known 
all this at school. Our stay in Vienna is such a 
stingy little stay. There is so much to see, so much 
that is beautiful and so little time to see it. 

The Church of Stephansdom is so perfectly won- 
derful I am not going to tell you all about it — ■ 
when it was started and when it was finished, how 
many square feet it covers, and all that sort of 

[33] 



afiroaa Mith tSe 15op0 



thing. I know you don't care a rap about its size. 
Let the pictures suffice, and take my word for it. 
It's dreadfully scary inside. The University and 
the Museum are lovely, but we had to be contented 
with quick looks from a taxicab. 

The women are so charming here, and the chil- 
dren are so beautiful, and everything blends with 
such exquisite taste. I was particularly struck with 
the economy of the newspaper industry. In Amer- 
ica two or three people, perhaps, read the same 
paper; but here dozens do. The coffee houses are 
most attractive, and it is here that the great masses 
congregate to read the news while they sip their 
coffee. I couldn't help but wonder how a young 
mother who was obliged to remain at home with 
the baby ever gained the news, because the coffee 
houses were so full of men, who, being satiated 
with the news in the coffee houses, need not take 
the paper home. So many of the men wore what 
Walter calls a "married man's derby," and they 
looked like family men. I never really knew what 
good coffee was before, and I particularly enjoyed 
the "melange," which is a sort of warm coffee, 
served in a tall glass with whipped cream flowing 
over the edges. Isn't this a funny one? Imagine 
it for America, large compotes of fancy coffee 
cakes and seeded breads are put on each table, and 
the waiter positively takes your word how many 
cakes you eat. If you eat three and you only pay 
for one he wouldn't dare dispute the loss. But then 
each customer is obliged to tip two waiters, so even 
a cheating diner has to make it up anyhow. 

I34] 



afitoan muh tu tbop0 



I love the Church of "Mary Helf." It dates 
back to 1603, and is so quaint and solemn and the 
beautiful faith of the people just made us all kneel 
down and be glad to be alive. I have such absolute 
faith in knowing that a wish will be granted that 
is asked for solemnly and in earnest on the first 
visit to a new church that I am storing up some 
beautiful things for the future. 

Brains, health, wealth and prosperity for all of 
us. What I want really most George S. and Walter 
tell me wouldn't be fair to ask, because I never 
would get it. Publishers to beg me for stories and 
dressmakers to memorize my shape are the two 
most important things. 

Last evening we went to the Apollo Theatre. 
Grandpa wanted to go to the opera and had put on 
his evening clothes. George S. and Walter had been 
working all day and they said they would get the 
fidgets at the opera. They wanted something light, 
and we got it light. \'\^ould you believe it, Daddy ? 
There was nothing heavy about the place but the 
atmosphere, and that was helped along by a man 
who came out every now and again with an enor- 
mous tin syringe for all the world like that affair 
to take the bugs off the rose bushes, and he w^ould 
squirt a disinfectant into the air that would dis- 
perse the odor of beer and tobacco smoke for an- 
other little while. Stupid advertisements would be 
flashed on the curtain between the acts just to try 
your patience for what was to follow. The first 
two acts were of the "common or garden" variety, 
and I was beginning to wish we had taken Grand- 



[35] 



afiroaa mm tu isovs 



pa's advice, when Simone de Beryl took her turn. 
She wore a pretty httle pink silk union suit, and 
stood up against a white background simply having 
to change her pose as one delicious effect after an- 
other would be flashed her way. 

Just think of the simplicity of being clad merely 
in imagination, and so becomingly, too. Once she 
was a peacock. Then again she had a pink chiffon 
scarf and a blossom tree. Once she was so thickly 
concealed in a fluffy Japanese costume that only her 
face and hands showed. After she had been a but- 
terfly and lots of other things she became the cen- 
tral "It" in a fountain with real splashing water. 
Then, when she went home to take a nap, Odette 
Valery showed what a splendid constitution she had 
by not catching cold. Dancing around almost en- 
tirely barefooted to the neck, with the exception of 
two yards and a quarter of the most delicious shade 
of deep pink chiffon. She danced with a snake. I 
never could bear snakes. I didn't see how any 
woman could tolerate them, and I looked around to 
see if any of the boys might think I was afraid of 
the snake, but none of them remembered I was 
alive. 

Did you have anything in the papers at home 
about the young King of Portugal? There were 
lots of pictures of him in the papers here and I do 
wish I could read German. It's a great disadvan- 
tage not to understand it, but that's not what I was 
telling you about. It was petite Gaby Deslys. She 
acted in a sort of little French play as a sweet young 
flower girl. Then there was a youth, Francois, who 

[36] 



afitoaa mitb tbt OBops; 



sold newspapers and admired little Gaby, and a nice 
handsome young husband, in a cape coat dnd collap- 
sible hat. She wore some wonderful clothes and a 
hat with yards of willow plumes when she danced 
in a rathskeller. Then there was a dressing scene 
in a boudoir, and what followed I'll let Walter tell 
you when he comes home. Finally, the lover and 
the husband clasped hands with little Gaby between 
them, and everybody is happy. The boys did not 
seem to be a bit disappointed about missing the 
opera. 



[37] 



PARIS. 

I have been through such gorgeous country that 
it scarcely seems real. The little train we were in 
was really full-size, but it seemed like a play-toy, 
it was so much smaller than the grandeur around 
it. The foliage around us was all brown and gold 
for the autumn, and as the eye would follow the 
rich beauty of color the greens would turn to gray, 
and as the mountains met the sky the blue grays 
would whiten into snow tips. Little streams of ice- 
cold melted snow ran down the mountains and kept 
on going and going faster than the train that seemed 
to be going towards them. Now and then a lonely 
little home, and then again a village, and tiny people 
and animals, and now and then a tall chimney of a 
factory, sometimes a spire of a church, but often 
little shrines, where a crucifix in a tiny wooden 
shed with some rocks and bushes around it stands 
bravely through all weathers for encouragement to 
travellers. Who could forget God's great love for 
man when they look at such a country? 

In big cities there is so much to divert people's 
minds that they sometimes forget, but here alone 
with sky and nature the soul has a chance to grow. 
It's gorgeous. Daddy, but even so I don't believe 
I could thrive here, and it wouldn't be because the 
air wasn't pure, but, like the great majority of the 
rest of us, I love a soft rug, a good table and mod- 

[38] 



36roalr mm tfie 13op$ 



ern plumbing. It was quite late when we arrived 
in Innsbruck and the air was so high up in the 
clouds I could hardly breathe. There wasn't one 
of us who hadn't cramps in our legs, and the com- 
partment shrunk to the size of a pill-box before we 
left it. The room in the hotel was colder than out- 
doors, and an enormous colored glass chandelier, 
big enough for a banqueting hall, stood that dread- 
ful cold without cracking, and the white-tiled chim- 
ney effect in the corner was really a stove when it 
was working. But is didn't work. 

In spite of the fact that our call was for 5 130 
next morning those gay boys said that I may never 
see Innsbruch again and it seemed as sad to them 
that I never should as it would be to leave me alone 
with that awful chandelier. Anyhow, we all had 
cramps in our legs, so what difference did it make? 
The air was so queer that we had to run, and nearly 
everybody in the native line had gone to bed, ex- 
cept those in one of those ever-open holes in the 
ground where the beer is always good and there is 
always something to make it worth the trip. 

This time besides the beer it was the interesting 
paintings around the wall representing scenes from 
grand opera, and the kellernerine was really a beau- 
tiful girl. It was a pity she has to stay up so late. 
Grandpa told her in German something about the 
roses on her cheeks, and after that the man brought 
the rest of the beer. George S. said he never saw 
such a butter-in as Grandpa, and Walter wouldn't 
tell me what Grandpa really said. 



[39] 



afitoati mUfi tbt T5og0 



It was late night when we reached Paris, and 
the ride as far as our eyes were concerned was 
simply gorgeous between naps, but our backs were 
so tired we couldn't even mention them. I won- 
der why the stewards hurry you up so with dinner 
and supper on the train when the dining car is so 
much more comfortable than the compartments. 
There are always two kinds of meat besides some 
awful doughy dessert with lumpy things in it. We 
managed to have a good time anyway and George 
S. knew what part of the country we were passing 
all the time, and we all pretended to believe him 
because he had such a sure way of telling us just 
where we were without even seeing the station 
signs. 

Really, after dark that car was so warm I was 
afraid we would all be cooked, but Paris was worth 
it all, as we arrived in the moonlight that was being 
outdone by the electric lights. The streets w^ere 
so crowded that everything seemed to move as if 
in a solid mass. Really, Daddy, I was astonished 
to see how many people were up so late. Little 
wicker tables w^th chairs to match are on the side- 
walks in front of the cafes, and people sit there 
with their wine and cigarettes and watch the mov- 
ing throng of people all trying to have a good 
time. Such wonderful clothes and such painted 
faces. The women here who enjoy the evening air 
never seem to wear their faces in the natural state. 
Always lots of paint. 

Plenty of fashion book clothes and all these little 
picture people eagerly pushing forward, appar- 

[40] 



aiitoaa tOitf) tU TBopsi 



ently going somewhere, and yet they would pass 
again and again as if looking for something. 

We enjoyed a delicious dinner next day where 
they have a Turkish-clad colored man, who speaks 
ofood French and makes his life's work to remem- 
ber men's hats and sees that each man, no matter 
how he has dined, receives his own hat on leaving 
without the help of a check. It's a good thing 
to do well whatever you have to do, and the red- 
bloomered person just mentioned had talents to 
run that way. 

We bought a taxicab for the afternoon, and 
besides seeing two walking funerals to whom all 
male passersby respectfully took off their hats, we 
also saw three wedding parties, where the bride 
and groom in all their wedding finery sit proudly 
in the first carriage while the guests follow in other 
carriages and drive through the Bois du Boulogne. 
We went as far as Auteuil, the place where they 
have the races, but it wasn't the season, and I 
imagine the place is more attractive when it is 
gayer. 

This eveninsf I shall alwavs remember. We had 
gone to the Folies Bergeres to see some other 
things and Otero, the wonderful Spanish dancer. 
She certainly is wonderful, but I don't see how 
she can tolerate dancing in her bare feet. I sup- 
pose because dancing that way is more difficult to 
do is the reason it is thought so much of nowadays. 

Old French women dressed as ushers push a 
little wooden stool under every woman's feet as 
soon as she is seated with a bunch of wraps on her 

[41] 



96roan mitb tU lBog0 



lap. Then they come around in a few minutes 
and demand a tip : "Pour la service." It was 
lovely to watch other people being caught after 
we had been. The foyer of the theatre is as large 
as the theatre itself, I think. There is music there 
during the intermissions, and the soft red carpet, 
the palms and the fountain, I imagine are always 
there. But the moving crowd of people. That's 
the thing. 

We stood on the balcony and looked down. 
George S., who knows so much, says that the 
women who parade around the place, have their 
clothes given to them to start the fashions, and 
the dressmakers from all over the world copy Paris 
styles that they find on these models, who appear 
to be having such a jolly time. I had actually to 
look twice, I couldn't believe my eyes, when I saw 
a radiantly-beautiful girl in a black chiffon velvet 
evening gown look up at the balcony and recognize 
me. There was something about the hair, and 
those soft questioning eyes that I shall never for- 
get. I recognized at once Marianna Murphy, and 
she really seemed awful glad to see me. 

The first thing I knew Marianna was fairly fly- 
ing up the stairs, with a dapper nicely-manicured 
little Frenchman at her heels. She kissed me. 
There was no helping it. The boys said if I didn't 
like it, why didn't I ask them to stand for it for 
me? But what could I do? There was little 
Marianna, in a real French party dress, and intro- 
ducing me to her fiance, if you please. She was 
going to be married, and she had written to papa, 

[42] 



afiroatr muf) the T5og0 



but she hadn't heard from him yet. It is easier 
to judge from a woman's evening clothes than it 
is from a man's the exact amount of the bank 
account, and I do hope Marianna's newly-acquired 
possession was not a mercenary heiress-hunter. 
She said she was going to call on me at the hotel 
next day, and as I told her where we were staying 
Walter wouldn't let me go back to the hotel until 
after the theatre, another supper, and then some. 
So that is how I missed her. But I found her 
card, and I hope, poor child, her father will be 
willing to support them both. 

The Paris shops are so exciting and alluring on 
the outside. But don't cross the threshold unless 
you intend to purchase. And don't try to pur- 
chase unless you have more money than self-con- 
trol. In the Bon Marche, where everybody goes 
to buy their gloves and silk stockings, any one can 
walk around perfectly free. Nobody bothers you 
until you bother them. But in the smaller and 
more beautiful stores it is quite another matter. 
The way I found all this accounts for a little 
bronze lady, done up only in tissue paper, in my 
hand-bag. I saw the bronze lady sleeping in a shop 
window, and before Walter knew what had hap- 
pened I had walked boldly into the shop intending 
to purchase the treasure. When I heard the price 
I remembered I needed a hat, and perhaps I did 
not look so anxious as I had at first. But the 
shopkeeper host was not to be daunted by the 
changed expression on an American's face. He 
thought he would lose a purchaser. So he pro- 

[43] 



aiitoaa mit% tu isog^ 



ceeded to entertain us, first by showing us a nice 
tall bronze girl standing with her bare feet close 
together, her fingers touched and pointed outward, 
and when a little music box started to play the 
arms of the girl slowly opened and her heavy 
bronze cloak she held moved back with her arms. 
The whole shop was full of such little surprises. 
A clothes-brush that played a tune to cheer one 
while being tidied up, a cane with electric lights 
in it, another with cigarettes, and so on. Ameri- 
cans call them catchpennnys. And lots of other 
lovely little things. But as I say, the shops are 
not kept open merely to amuse the people, and that 
is why I have the little bronze lady, and I haven't 
even taken her out of her box yet. Walter's 
expression about my taste somewhat dampened my 
ardor. 

We went for a few restful hours to the Notre 
Dame. It it magnificent and wonderful. I was 
awed and delighted, and, tired as my feet were, 
I rejoiced in them, because I kept thinking of the 
millions of dead feet that had walked over the very 
same spot where I was standing. We saw the 
little church railed off in the middle of the big 
church, where the altar and steps, candelabra, etc., 
are just the same as the day when Napoleon and 
Josephine were married there. The statue of 
Jeanne d'Arc is exquisite, and so are many others. 
There is an awfully scary statue of an elderly 
marble grandfather comiing out of a coffin with 
the lid partly lifted, and a lady, presumably his 
marble wife, being very much astonished. 

[44] 



atitoati mub tfte 13op& 



Don't think, dear Daddy, I'm not seeing Europe 
intelligently, only I'm telling you the kind of things 
you won't find in any other but this home-made 
scare of a book. There are plenty of guide books 
for those who want them. I enjoy everything, 
and do you know, I am travelling a real Madame 
Sans Gene. Do you know, I don't even know the 
money, Walter is so considerate. 



[45] 



BRUSSELS. 

, For this magnificent city, dear Daddy, I'm going 
to let you look at the guide-books and picture 
postals. Let me mention here casually that I am 
perfectly infatuated with the lace shops and a 
white wine that is made from white grapes and 
called some pretty name. It is just the most deli- 
cious thing I ever tasted. Chablis is the name, in 
case you should ever meet it. A dear old French 
lady in the same compartment with us coming from 
Paris stood on the seat to put her little hand-bag 
on the rack above her, and unfortunately she put 
her hip through the window, and the draught from 
then on was more than we needed. She was so 
sorry, dear old soul, but we all had to sit with our 
top-coats on, and she thought that no one saw that 
it was a rosary she held on her lap under her 
spread-out handkerchief. Her face was so sweet 
and placid, she didn't look like the kind of woman 
who would put her hip through a window. 

The fire at the Exposition must have been a truly 
dreadful affair, and I have heard that the loss by 
it can never be replaced, especially to England, 
which had loaned such a remarkable and rare col- 
lection of antiques. There were some few things 
saved, among them a piece of tapestry of rare 
value, while its companion piece burned to cinders. 
Just think of the conscience of the man who per- 

[46] 



aftroaa mub tfte lBop0 



suaded so many people to lend their treasures to 
an exhibition. Furniture and silverware that for 
generations had belonged to the same families 
were there, and even one man's entire collection of 
model pieces of furniture, the work of a lifetime. 
Ail went, as I saw in an English magazine, to serve 
as fertilizer for the fields of Belgium. 

The Italian marbles were lovely, and so many 
orders had been taken for reproductions that some 
of them had cards pinned on them in long strips 
six or eight yards long. The Rubens building was 
beautiful. Some one had a glorious imagination 
in reproducing a said-to-be exact copy of Rubens' 
studio, and copies of the beautiful original paint- 
ings we saw in the museum in Berlin. In the 
woman's building I saw a couple of poor girls 
making willow plumes and maribou stuffs. Both 
things were so miserably fuzzy that they would 
get into the girls' eyes, noses and mouths. Some 
one always suffers for some other one's vanity. 
Isn't it strange and hardly fair? 

We had a sauerkraut dinner in one of the exhi- 
bition buildings. It is the German building, I be- 
lieve, and the music is lovely. The church chimes 
are heard every now and then. The place was 
called Alt Nuremberg. It was rather a sad affair, 
because we parted company here for a two weeks' 
separation. Walter was taking me to a little Bel- 
gian town, where I was to live in a perfectly 
French household, completely at their mercy, so I 
imagined then. We were to meet the boys again 
in London, and go together to Ireland, then to 

[47] 



aistoaQ mub tht iBops 



Liverpool to sail for home. Grandpa told me I 
had regular exposition feet. He had been to so 
many more expositions than I had, and we all 
agreed upon the vital subject of being somewhat 
weary. However, the dinner was cheerful, and 
George S. said it was his birthday. None of us 
believed him, and for telling such a shameless one 
he was obliged to pay for the repast. 



[48] 



ISEGHEM, BELGIUM. 

We changed cars at Courtrai, and it was here 
that we met our Belgian host. He does not speak 
one word of English, and, as my French comes 
from the head and not the heart, I had a little 
difficulty in conversing, until I could become more 
accustomed to it. Madame, however, is delight- 
ful, and she wished to practice the English of a 
one year's study in England in her girlhood. And 
she wanted me to talk to her in my own tongue, 
but as far as the children are concerned I just have 
to talk wigwag to them. My French at school 
seemed to be good. To these dear sweet Belgian 
children it is gibberish. There is Julien and 
Yvonne and Marcel, whose grandfather says he 
has "uncoeur d'or,'' and Rachel, George and "Pe- 
tite Coco." Coco is evidently just a love name, 
because when she edges up sideways for the some- 
one who is always ready to love her her mother 
Avill say "she know she Coco." 

The house is entirely unheated except for the 
big comfortable kitchen, where the canary sings 
merrily and the potted plants flourish and the most 
delicious meals are concocted. There is a crucifix 
over the range, and a little row of shoes warming, 
while the children wear their felt slippers in the 
evening. It is here that early in the morning Lora 
the maid screws the ear-rings into each little girl's 

[49] 



astoaD muh tu i3op$ 



ears and helps with buttons and shoe-laces. The 
dining room is also warm, and it is used as a liv- 
ing room as well. The great dining table does 
A^ery nicely for evening games. There was a piano 
in this room, and, as all the children are home 
from boarding school for the Saints' days (they 
come the last of October and are holidays,) the 
piano is working all the time. Isn't it nice here, 
instead of a holiday on Saturday the free day for 
school children is Thursday. So the children, 
therefore, do not have two off days together the 
way they do at home. The house here is so awfully 
cold and the hall has its full share of chills, having 
walls and floor of cold clean white marble. And 
the bed-rooms have the windows open all the time. 
And the floors are painted to look like carpets. No 
one seems to have the everlasting colds in which 
the Americans indulge, and we both feel so well it 
would be a mighty poor time for either Walter 
or myself to have to order winter furnace coal or 
logs for the fireplace. 

The streets are narrow in this little Belgian 
town, and a one-story house or a tiny shop will be 
close to an imposing four-story dwelling. Nearly 
every house of any prominence whatsoever has an 
old-fashioned reflector, or "busy-body" out of the 
best parlor window. This arrangement is care- 
fully brought in at night when all the shutters 
are locked downstairs. On the smaller streets 
about every tenth house will have an old-time fagot 
broom outside the door half-raised as if for a flag- 
pole. This does not indicate, as I imagine, that 

[50] 



abtoati mitb tU T5op0 



the brooms or brushes are made there, but rather 
it is a sign as well known as the barber poles, 
meaning that the door below is the entrance to a 
public eating place, where the dreadful sour Bel- 
gian beer is sold. A smelly oily lamp makes the 
place cheerful in the evening, and the open door 
serves the same purpose in the day-time. The 
brush industry flourishes almost as extensively as 
the linen manufactures here. The latter are most 
interesting. 

At four o'clock in the morning you can hear 
the clanking of wooden shoes on the cobble stones 
as the linen workers are hurrying to work. 

The beautiful science of plumbing has not 
reached this picturesque little town as far as I have 
been able to see, except for one large cold water 
spigot in the kitchen sink and another not quite 
so large but much colder in the garden. There is 
something nice about that garden, however, and its 
great delicious Belgian pear trees. The same pears 
that we see at home in pink waxed papers and cot- 
ton batting in the windows of the fruit stores grow 
here in this very garden. The trees from their 
infancy are trained to stick close to the wall, and 
the branches are bent sideways, then up, forming 
most pleasing square effects. And those big deli- 
cious grapes that only sick people at home ever 
have, grow here in a little glass house and hang in 
heavy clusters from the ceiling. Fruit is always 
called "dessert," and the wonderful concoction 
from the "patissier de fin" is called the "sweet." 



[51] 



mtmn mitb tu i5op0 



It is usually elaborate and exciting, at least for 
company. 

It was good to get back to the nice big warm 
dining room after this afternoon, when we all went 
in our host's comfortable touring car to an open 
field some miles away to see a biplane perform. 
The noisy little French person who risked her life 
for our amusement wore a gray divided skirt, with 
old-fashioned bicycle clamps, holding it around 
her ankles. She also wore a long white woollen 
sweater and cap and borrowed a "journal' ' to put 
over her breast for her bird-like flight. I had the 
same nervous uncomfortableness as I always have 
when I see circus people on the stage or in a tent 
risking their lives on a trapeze or in a high pyra- 
mid of themselves. It seems so useless, and yet 
we could not help but enjoy anything so wonder- 
ful. Just before the little wheels leave the ground 
the propeller goes so fast that the draught it makes 
sends dry leaves skiting along with people's hats. 
It is an awe-inspiring sight to see anything leave 
the earth with such agility and to watch it until 
it is no larger than the gulls that follow the sea- 
going ships. Finally, the affair turns and comes 
back to the very spot it left a while ago, and flut- 
tering like a bird, it alights with wonderful grace. 
Personally, I should prefer an automobile. The 
comfort of a closed car with electric light on a 
drizzly night appeals to me far more than daring 
to defy the laws of gravity in an air-ship. 

I'm glad to-day is Sunday. I just feel like a 
nice rest with my own people in this book. Last 

[52] 



9:6roa5 mitb t6e I5op0 



night for supper we had large platters full of "cre- 
vette," and in real English they are called little 
pink shrimps. The noon-day meal is always so 
elaborate that supper is always a thick beefsteak 
and something else. Madame has confided to me 
that a thick steak of this kind, enough to serve 
twelve people, costs all of two francs, that is, about 
forty cents. The "something else" proved to be, 
in this case, the shrimps. That, as I said, was 
served on two enormous platters and eaten with 
the fingers. 

Julien sat next to me, and, in spite of his manly 
efforts to teach me in pantomime just how I should 
twist the little pink affairs to make them come out 
of their shells, I would be sure to break nearly all 
of them. Last night we had raw oysters for the 
surprise, and they were served on the same two 
enormous platters, and had their lids on. They 
had been loosened, but the top shell was there all 
right. Every one eats at least a dozen. The rea- 
son for this unusual display of sea-food stuffs was 
because we had been to Ostend, and there our host 
ordered the seashore products. While we were 
enjoying our supper two friends of the children 
dropped in for a few minutes' call. The boy had 
received a soldier uniform only ten days ago, and 
Julien was anxious to try on the great top-coat, hat 
and belt. The oldest son in every Belgian house- 
hold becomes a soldier when he is eighteen years 
old. He must live at the barracks, but has the 
privilege to continue his education at his parents' 
expense, of course. 

[53] 



abroaa mub tht iBops 



His sister seemed so proud of him that it evi- 
dently is considered a nice thing- to be eighteen 
and a soldier. Of course, our trip to Ostend was 
in a gorgeous car, and Jules, the chauffeur, is evi- 
dently weather-proof, because the day was far from 
fair, except for the cheerful laughter inside the 
car. Our first stop was at the beautiful ancient 
city of Bruges. The sun came out for us and the 
chimes were musically announcing the noon hour. 
We saw the town hall with the old paintings that 
represented different historic events that have 
taken place in Bruges. The room in which the 
paintings are exhibited is really magnificent, with 
a fireplace at one end fully ten feet high and above 
the mahogany wainscoting around this famous 
"great hall" are twelve beautiful paintings. They 
represent : "Return of the Brugeois from the Bat- 
tle of the Golden Spurs at Courtrai in 1302," "The 
Foundation of the Order of the Golden Fleece by 
Philip of Burgundy at Bruges in 1413." One of 
the paintings represents a church scene in iioi, 
and still another shows the method of printing by 
movable type in Bruges by John Britto in 1446. 
Of course, the paintings are modern; it's only the 
story they tell that's old. But the colors are so 
lovely and the horses and dogs in them so exquisite. 
All of the principal places in Bruges that the trav- 
eller just must not miss are together circling a 
large open space. The church is next to the town 
hall and the hotel close beside them. The church 
is called the Chappelle du Saint Sang, and it was 

[54] 



aftroap mat) m iBogg 

built in 1 6 19, and the chapel under it in 844. The 
original floor of this chapel has been covered over 
except in one little space v^here a little dark altar 
stands in a corner. There was a tiny light burn- 
ing there, and also little wax objects representing 
the part of the person who has been cured of some 
fearful ailment by faith and prayers in the little 
chapel. There were lots of tiny wax legs, and 
arms and heads, each about four inches long, and 
one pair of crutches about large enough for a boy 
of ten. 

I should love to know the story that belonged to 
those poor discarded crutches. The guide who 
took us through the church would lift up part of 
the floor with a big ring like a cellar door and he 
would explain in a big solemn voice just who it 
was who was buried in that dreadful dark hole. 
To see the upstairs we must go out intO' the street 
again. Up a few steps and obey a sign which 
says to ring the bell. We all pay another quarter 
apiece and this time have a young girl guide, who 
talks such quick French that we cannot understand 
a word. But in a little while I understood why 
the precaution was taken to allow only a few peo- 
ple at a time and then only in this part of the 
church with a guide. The possessions are so pre- 
cious. We saw one solid silver massive altar and 
another carved wooden one that was as exquisite 
as a cameo. Then, in one of the upstairs rooms, 
there was a collection of paintings. Some of them 
w^ere attributed to Van Eyck. They were framed 

[55] 



afitoau caJitf) t&e TBop0 



like the little three-piece mirrors that fold up, and 
we were told the reason the colors were so won- 
derfully preserved was because they were painted 
with white of eggs and wax. Such faith as one 
puts in a guide who is supposed to know and im- 
parts information so glibly that it wouldn't seem 
dignified to doubt. We saw many other wonder- 
ful treasures here besides the ^'Relic" in a wonder- 
ful case of gold and real precious stones that had 
been donated by kings and cjueens. There is even 
a little crown hanging in this wonderful gold affair. 
It is all under a heavy glass case and is riveted to 
a stand. Bruges, like many other European cities, 
has water streets, with bridges and houses that 
should they have cellars most certainly would be 
damp. 

Into the car we all climbed again to proceed on 
our way to Ostend. I have much more to tell you 
of Ostend than merely to waste time on that splen- 
did dinner, but had we not been fortified with the 
extra weight and warmth of that dinner and its 
wines I am sure we would have been blown off that 
fearful draughty boardwalk. Never have I felt 
such a persistent draught except on the very front 
of a steamer. I imagine Ostend in season is a 
very delightful place, almost as nice as Atlantic 
City, but not quite, except for the ''Kursaal," which 
is an enormous building that was resting for the 
winter. It was here the late King of Belgium, 
Leopold II, entertained his friends. There was a 
large golden bust of the monarch in the lobby that 
I have no doubt caused him a great deal of pride. 

[56], 



afetoaD mitb tfte 15op0 



It was well he was too dead to hear what our dear 
Belgian friends said about him as they passed his 
portrait. This wonderful "Kursaal," I imagine, 
is a very imposing sight when it is at its very gay- 
est, with plenty of dancing, music, gambling, dar- 
ing and sinning. What those old walls could tell 
us would be interesting indeed, but all in French. 
It seemed almost undignified to see the place thus 
in negligee, with its enormous chandeliers in the 
ball-room lowered to the floor and swathed in 
huge white cloths. And all the red plush divans 
covered with still more dust-proof clothes. I 
know they were red plush. One of the Belgian 
children wanted to peep and I helped him. By 
the way, those little boys drink wine as freely as 
the grownups. Their parents never hesitate to 
give it to them, and they never seem to feel it. 
Such wonderfully healthy children as they are, too. 
In all that bitter cold they were bare-legged and 
never seemed to notice the cold at all. 

One day before we left our friends we were 
taken to see the wonderful lace that is made in this 
country. You who know my penchant for real 
lace can imagine my delight. Why, I was simply 
distracted. The lace was displayed in the home of 
a relative of our hostess, who is a thoroughly 
charming woman. The lace is made by the peas- 
ant women and they bring it to her. She then has 
is made up into the thousand and one things that 
are of value to the very wealthy of America and 
kings and queens. 

From the tiny tumbler doily to a magnificent bed- 

[57] 



afitoaD muh tht T5op0 



spread, all in the tiniest stitches of handwork, the 
lace was displayed on a large blue plush screen, 
where it would stick without being held. Madame 
and her picturesque maid, Bette, would show us one 
creation after another, each being more charming 
than the last. 

I was really distressed to leave our Belgian 
friends. They have taught me so much that I 
shall never forget. 



[58] 



AMSTERDAM-HOLLAND. 

Six hours after leaving Brussels we arrived in 
Amsterdam, with an accent on the last syllable. It 
was I 130, and a pitch-black rainy night. Our pos- 
sessions were on top of a cab, from which we had 
just alighted to be greeted with the cheerful news 
that Walter's advance message to hold a room for 
us had not been received, and every room in the 
hotel was occupied. I was hungry, too, and terri- 
bly tired, and I tried not to remember I had a home. 
And I just wouldn't let myself think of you and 
the girls. I even tried to engage Walter in a pleas- 
ant conversation while we waited in the night clerk's 
little office watching him being unsuccessful as he 
would call up one hotel after another to hear them 
say the place was "complet," as they say of the 
street cars in Paris. After awhile a place was 
found where we could rest ourselves and a Dutch 
bed is better than no bed at all at that time of 
night. And when the morning with its sunshine ar- 
rived things didn't seem half bad. When we looked 
out of the window to see what size hurdy-gurdy 
could make such loud music we saw a beautiful city 
with water streets. There is no railing along the 
sidewalks, and I don't see what it is that prevents 
the entire population from drowning in their thor- 
oughfares. Of course, grownups know what to ex- 
pect, but I should think the children would have to 

[59] 



astoaB mub tu tbops 



have an experience to keep them on their guard. 
Talk about economy. A two-cent car ticket will 
bring you back to the hotel again, with its return 
stub, but you have to remember to take the same 
numbered car. The cars all have numbers over here, 
and you have to remember the correct number and 
not to rely on the signs the way we do at home. 
The numbers are large and at the upper end of the 
trolley pole. It was in the Museum that we met the 
funniest and most friendly guide that it has so far 
been our luck to encounter. He briefly called Wal- 
ter "gentleman," and he told us even more than was 
due us at twenty cents an hour. I believe that man 
could make a fortune on the Keith circuit if he 
would be contented to be just himself. I was so 
sorry the other boys were not with us. They would 
have loved that person. Another friendly way he 
had was to pick up a New York widow, whom he 
had guided the day before. He met her in the 
Museum, and, after whispering to her awhile, he 
came over to us as first customers. He felt it due us 
to know if we objected to having the lady "guided" 
with us also. Indeed, we didn't. She bubbled over 
with fun, and to use her own expression the only 
foreign language she knew was "table d'hote 
French." I can't leave that Museum without tell- 
ing you some of the things we saw. First of all, 
about the famous "Night Watch," by Rembrandt. 
It has a room all to itself, and it is worth an entire 
suite. Why, the thing seems fairly alive. It's al- 
most uncanny, and I don't wonder the people here 
love that picture so much. We saw plenty more 

[60]; 



afitoao mub tu iBop0 



pictures and lots of old china, furniture and even 
old carriages that had been discarded by kings and 
queens, and I was particularly delighted with the 
dress of Madame de Pompadour. I kept thinking 
how she had said ''Apres nous la deluge" for the 
benefit of school-books, and I don't wonder she was 
a luxury-loving person. She didn't even have to 
carry her own parasol, and the person who did have 
to carry it was obliged on account of her hoops 
and train to walk so far behind that the parasol 
handle had two hinges in it. There were her little 
wooden-looking shoes wnth square toes and red 
heels and her fan and fichu. And all these things 
have lasted as perhaps your possessions and mine 
will last after our souls have gone to meet their 
fate and our bodies are dust for worms. That is 
not a pleasant thought, but this prowling around 
among antiques and looking at the lasting things 
that belonged to people who have gone and who 
not by wishing could have added one inch to their 
stature or one day to their lives set me thinking. 
It's good to be alive, and it's wise to make the best 
of it while we have it. 

"While we live we live in clover; 
When we're dead were dead all over!* 

The Museum closes at three and we were fairly 
hustled through long rows of glass cases, filled with 
life-size wax figures of men, women and children 
dressed in the native Dutch costumes of genera- 
tions gone by. Even jewelry bedecked these scary 

[6i] 



afiroao muh tSe 15oy$ 



things, and the clothes were wonderful and dread- 
ful, and probably at the time they were made were 
the subjects of much consideration. I was particu- 
larly taken with the information that was given to 
us as honest truth that in the days gone by in Hol- 
land the orphans were obliged to wear a distinctive 
garb to distinguish them as parentless. We saw 
the outlandish affair they were supposed to wear, 
and what is more this guide person told us that the 
Catholic and Protestant orphans were obliged to 
dress differently in small matters like the arrange- 
ment of a hat brim or the lapels of a coat. 
Imagine Americans standing for any distinctive 
sign of belief showing in their apparel, except, of 
course, nuns, or Salvation Army lassies. Why, I 
know a woman whom even the wedding ring hurts. 
One of the reasons I didn't believe everything that 
guide person said, was because of a rare and an- 
cient Delft cow in a glass case that evidently was a 
possession of rare value. He led Walter to it 
solemnly and in a dramatic tone remarked: "Gen- 
tleman, a bull." But the way he pronounced it was 
the funniest part of it all. All this happened on 
Friday afternoon, and the guide led us to believe 
he had a wonderful treat in store for us. He led 
us through the mud-covered streets of Amsterdam, 
always tripping ahead with that friendly smile, and 
every now and then stopping to give us a little 
treatise on something or other and explaining things 
so graphically that several times we had quite a 
little crowd around us. He took us to a Jewish 
synagogue, where women were not welcome, and 

[62] 



aiitoaD mitb tbt tbop0 



the widow and myself were taken to the first row 
balcony and were hidden behind a cross-barred 
w^ooden screen affair. Then men and boys were 
singing downstairs, and their voices were magnifi- 
cent. It was a most impressive spectacle, and the 
place was entirely lighted by candles, and there were 
sufficient of them to make it quite brilliant. 

He took us to another synagogue, and then to 
the Catholic Church of Moses and Aaron. It was 
a beautiful church and I should have liked to have 
seen the carvings in a better light, but we were hur- 
ried through a side passage and stopped for one 
stingy peep into the priests' kitchen, w^hich was the 
whitest and bluest I have ever seen. The range 
was set deep in its own little cubby hole, and a 
clean white valance was stretched above it. There 
was also a beautiful old-fashioned secretary and 
mirror hanging over it. It was, indeed, a most 
picturesque kitchen. 

Before we left our friend for the day he took us 
to a place where we could find something to warm 
us up after our walk through so much drizzle and 
dampness. Two old Dutch ladies, with their dresses 
buttoned up fearfully tight with hard, marble-like 
buttons, kept the place. All around the wall were 
old-fashioned jugs and bottles. Some of them 
seemed to be lacquer ware and were hand-painted 
with dark views. There were lots of customers 
crowded into the little shop and around the one 
counter, where the wonderful cordial was placed in 
a little wide-rimmed glass, so full that every one has 
to stoop over and place their lips to the glass before 

[63] 



a&roaa Witl} tU IBops 



they can raise it. The widow, the guide, Walter 
and myself all indulged in this delicious affair 
called Wynand Fockink — and this particular cordial 
is ''half en half," and it goes where it is most 
needed. In my case, I think it was my toes. 

I should like to transport those old ladies, their 
shop, their methods and their cordials, the wide 
open door and the little sink to wash the sticky 
glasses — everything just as it is — to the busiest 
corner on Broadway, and then when Carnegie was 
a poor man compared with me — I would send the 
old ladies home to die with the Dutch. 

I was told not to leave Amsterdam without go- 
ing to Krasnopolsky's. You don't say that word. 
You just spell it. The music is perfectly delight- 
ful there, and the food is all right. But it was the 
flowers that delighted me most. It's just an enor- 
mous conservatory restaurant, called the "Winter- 
tuin." The flowers are gorgeous and in such splen- 
did condition for a place with so many people go- 
ing in and out all the time. Prize chrysanthemums 
and great big palms and hanging baskets with 
blended greens and long strings of ivy, and then 
through a little door at the end into a garden spot, 
with pebbled walks and borders of real flowers 
growing indoors. And orchids, and lilies, with 
bows of gauze ribbon tied on them. It is really 
lovely. There is lots more to Holland beside the 
cheese markets, and the little villages with the wind- 
mills and the flat canal boats on which people live 
and seemingly in safety. I saw plenty of pictures 
of the Queen and ''Het Primsenje," which means 

[64] 



abroao mub tU "iBops 



a real live baby girl who will be queen herself some 
day. 

In spite of it all we left Holland and took the 
night boat, where we slept so good and sound we 
were not ready to be awakened at five o'clock the 
next morning by the herald of the ship with his 
trumpet, warning all people they were in England, 
and that a train was ready to take them to London. 
Why, would you believe it. Daddy, even the ad- 
vertisements in the train looked good to me. Eng- 
lish is a beautiful language and I missed it. Ger- 
man and French are musical, and lead us on to 
Holland, with all the unnecessary j's, i's and w's 
until I was distracted with their awful language. 
And it certainly was a relief to see and hear Eng- 
lish again. 



[65] 



LONDON. 

Sunday morning is by no means the best time to 
meet London, but then it's nice and quiet for just 
looking. But every place is closed. We kept our 
eyes open, and we didn't exactly die. It was Wal- 
ter's idea to take an old-time hansom cab, instead 
of a taxi, to go for an afternoon's outing. His idea 
was that I would see more leisurely than if we hur- 
ried by in an automobile. The idea was all right. 
The trouble was with the cabman. He was swathed 
in layers of rags, and looked as if Dickens had writ- 
ten him up and Cruikshanks had drawn him down. 
We managed to get considerable fun out of him, 
and that driving slow idea of Walter's was all 
right. The poor beast was nearly dead, anyhow, 
and the old cabby's ''Do you know this place, sir?" 
was lots of fun until we got tired of it. 

What a wonderful place this London is, and so 
delightful to view the scenes we have all read about. 
I had read "The Greatest Wish in the World" com- 
ing over on the steamer, and I went through Lon- 
don with his book people. To go back to the old 
driver, he drove us around for about two hours, 
when he suddenly became overcome with thirst, and, 
being pretty much at his mercy, we just patiently 
waited in front of a little speak-easy (and it was 
Sunday in London), until our old man returned. 
It was all a bluff. He didn't intend taking us back 

[66], 



96roaD mUb the TBogg 



just then. He only wished to borrow two cents 
to fee another drunken old soul, who held his 
wild beast's head while our old man refreshed him- 
self with "still another." He evidently liked the 
Tower Bridge because he drove us forward and 
back on that magnificent structure several times. I 
have a fine photograph of it, but I didn't get it 
then. I have some other good photographs of Lon- 
don — Westminster Abbey, Ludgate Hill and St. 
Paul's, the Thames Embankment, showing the Ho- 
tel Cecil, Cleopatra's Needle and Somerset House. 
I have another of the Marble Arch, also Fleet 
Street and Rotten Row. You will like them, I 
know. The Bank of England and Royal Exchange 
and Piccadilly Circus didn't feel unlike New York. 
When we passed Buckingham Palace the old cabby, 
not at all impressed with the country's rulers, called 
our attention to the numerous guards around the 
palace, and called them "a lazy lot of 'ounds." 

Sunday was over after awhile, and it gave me 
considerable time to write while Walter slept, and 
to-morrow morning we wall meet the boys again. 
They will be here at the hotel in time for breakfast. 
Good night, dear Daddy^ the amount of printed 
matter I am toting around in my valise will show 
you more of the country than I am setting down 
here. 

This is Lord Mayor's Day, and we are all ex- 
citement. George S. and Grandpa look fine and 
fatter than ever. They were both togged off in 
English clothes, and they fairly bubbled over with 
fun, and so did we, and to-day has been one long 

[671 



afiroaa mUb tSe ISopg 



joy day. Grandpa has had the gout under his pearl- 
colored spats, and the hotel doctor told him he must 
give up all red things, like wine and beef and ties. 
He tried it for almost four days. Then he gave up 
his doctor. And to-day when we indulged in a de- 
licious macaroni-by-the-yard dinner at a very attrac- 
tive Italian place on the Strand, Grandpa had a 
toe and a conscience that hurt together. Every time 
he tasted that delicious Chianti stuff that comes in 
the strawcovered bottles with red and green worsted 
tassels he would remark: "I really shouldn't do 
this," and it seemed to comfort him somewhat to 
talk about it. So if he would forget it for awhile, 
I would remind him of it. The town was gayly 
decorated with flags and bunting, and garlands of 
make-believe flowers, festooned across the streets. 
Everybody wore a holiday manner, and in some 
places we saw people stationed on the streets will- 
ing to wait for four hours that they might have 
front-row places when the "show" would pass. We 
were most fortunate to secure a little balcony with 
rugs hanging over the railing, and really the crowd 
was as interesting to watch as the "show" itself, 
which to my American mind, was of the "common 
or garden" variety of street parade. Some of the 
historical costumes seen were interesting. The first 
Lord Mayor of London was Henry Fitz-Alwin 
from 1 189 until 12 12. The gentleman wore petti- 
coats and so did his knights with union suits of 
armor showing through their sheath skirts. The 
next was Sir John Philpot — 1378. Not only petti- 
coats but trains also were worn by the gentlemen in 

[68] 



aijtoaa mitb tbt isop^ 



this little party, except for the very brief kilt on 
the soldiers. Dick Whittington came next all the 
way to 1 419. He appears grown up and his cat 
is not with him. Sir Richard Gresham comes next. 
They are all dressed like Henry VHI's. Then, Sir 
Thomas Myddelton, but the next, with John Wilkes, 
in 1775, wear bright scarlet coats, and are of the 
variety that every true-born American school-boy 
thoroughly despises when he first meets them in 
his history book. All the boys with me acknowl- 
edged biting the heads off their British leaden sol- 
diers while studying the Boston Tea Party part of 
their American history. To go back to the show. 
Robert Waithman, with gold cords and tassels, led 
us on to the present-day Lord Mayor. Seated in 
a coach of state for all the world like the lovely 
affair Cinderella's grandmother made out of a 
pumpkin. 

Colored people are by no means familiar sights 
over here, but on holida3^s men blackened like min- 
strels, go around the streets and play the banjo and 
guitar in front of a crowded balcony or window. 

Over here prizes are given to the best-kept work- 
ing horses, and it is by no means an unfamiliar 
sight to see a fine, vrell-groomed horse with ten or 
twelve prizes on its harness, and the poor patient 
animals must submit to the petting of nearly every 
passerby. I have seen well-dressed young women 
go up to a horse harnessed to an ash-wagon and 
fondle the horse's handsome head while they talked 
about his charms to his master. 

One of the waiters in this hotel has a very *'cor- 

[69] 



aiitoaD mub tbt isop^ 



dial manner," so George S. says, because he has a 
little two-story go-cart fitted out with nice things 
to drink and smoke, and where the coffee is served 
in the evening he goes around with his little rubber- 
tired pushcart. It's such a nice complete little af- 
fair, with each cordial in its own little compart- 
ment, and he sells cigarettes, one or two at a time, 
as well as a shilling a box. 

Maybe we didn't see a lovely thing this after- 
noon, and I understand it's a regular affair with 
this certain hunt club when they give their annual 
dinner to celebrate the opening of the hunting sea- 
son. The Lady Patroness comes out on the up- 
stairs veranda, and beside her there is a little stove 
vi^ith a pan on it full of pence and ha' pennies, and, 
with the aid of a little coal shovel, she throws these 
scorching hot coins down on the crowd below. Oh, 
it was a jolly sight and Tm sure. Daddy, you and 
the girls would have loved it. I managed to get 
two ha' pennies, and they were hot ones, too. I 
hope I won't spend them by mistake the way I did 
the pewter franc I was saving that the guide in the 
Notre Dame had no scruples about passing onto 
us. There was one man in the crowd who was hav- 
ing a lovely time. He was catching hot coins in 
an inverted umbrella. He really didn't need the 
money, as he wasn't that kind of a person. He 
would throw the money back again to a crowd of 
kiddies. 

One of the most artistic shops I have ever seen 
is here in London, where the shop-girls wear soft 
brown or moss green cashmere, well-made clothes 

[70] 



aijroaB mm tu tbops 



to match their departments. I asked an English- 
man this morning if he didn't think them charming, 
and he looked down at me over his glasses, and 
without a sign of a smile he simply and sufficiently 
remarked : "Entirely too much side, madam," 
and I don't think "side" means charm. The little 
errand girls wear pale green or coffee-colored pina- 
fores, and they were such sweet-looking children, 
with pretty gracious manners and graceful soft 
curls or plaits. Americans w^ould call them "broil- 
ers." The French say "bockfishe." Old-fashioned 
folk say "at the hobbledehoy age," but every one 
says "Sweet sixteen." The boys with me did, 
anyhow. 

We w^ent to the Drury Lane Theatre to see "The 
Whip" last evening and part of the night, I was 
about to remark, that it certainly was a lengthy 
session. There were four acts and twelve scenes, 
and all of them interesting and unusual. One 
scene was in Madame Tussaud's museum of wax 
works in the Chamber of Horrors. I thought of 
the child who was taken to the Eden Musee and 
screamed with fright, whose mother said to it : 
"You have to enjoy yourself; I paid fifty cents to 
get you in here." There was a child in this show 
who didn't seem to enjoy it either, and he was 
simply called a "nasty kid" because he didn't enjoy 
wax figures and murderers. I think I heard one 
man say this play had been in London more than 
a year, and we will have it at home some day. 
There was a railroad accident, where people seemed 
to be flung about, and the car was burned to cin- 

[71] 



afitoaD mm m iBog^ 



ders, and all in a dazzling red light to help make 
things look more real. And all told it was a very- 
good effect, but a very dreadful calamity. We 
expected to take the night train for Scotland next 
night, and it didn't make me overly comfortable 
to thinks of things that might happen. I was try- 
ing not to think about them, and was looking down 
as I left the theatre, when I saw something shine. 
I picked up about as handsome a gold neck chain 
as I have ever seen. No one near me had an 
anxious look as I could see, and hard as I looked 
around the place, I didn't find a diamond pendant 
to dangle on it. So some day you will see me wear 
it with merely gratification. What is it in people 
that makes us all love something for nothing. I 
don't believe there is any one who can truly say 
they don't enjoy anything they find, something they 
only own by chance. It's something like the sen- 
sation of winning a bridge prize, or striving to pos- 
sess a loving cup in a golf tournament. It is so 
much easier to say: "Isn't this lovely? I found 
it or won it," whereas one would feel a hesitancy 
about praising before others things they have 
bought and paid for, especially to people who either 
have too much discretion or too little wherewithal 
to purchase unnecessary possessions. 

The day of the Lord Mayor's Show was also the 
late King's birthday, and on our way home we 
stopped in Westminster Abbey for the memorial 
services. I am afraid my mind was more on the 
magnificence of the edifice than on the eulogy. 
Also, I sat in a pew under a monument with two 

[72] 



afitoaD mm tfte 15og0 



marble people lying dead on the top, and about 
four times I read the inscription which was mostly 
about what a very superior soldier was buried 
there with his second wife. We were informed 
by reading- the stone letters that she was a faith- 
ful and comforting wife, an incentive to good 
deeds also in battle. I felt glad that there was 
very little likelihood that Walter w^ould ever have 
a marble image of himself over his tomb, and I 
resolved to be wonderfully wholesome that never 
should his ashes remain to be read about beside a 
second wife. Think of the agonized jealous soul 
of that soldier's first wife, who, probably, raised 
his children for him, mended his underwear and 
armor, and planned endless meals, and now sees 
him resting comfortably in Westminster Abbey 
beside Margaret, with all the nice things being said 
about her. I felt so indignant for her that Grandpa 
suggested a regular party dinner would perhaps 
help to make me more wholesome and also be 
rather comforting before our long night's ride. 

George S. went in one taxi with all the lug- 
gage (no one knows how uncomfortable those um- 
brellas, valises and strapped-up streamer rugs were 
at times), and Grandpa, Walter and myself were 
comfortably settled in a smelly old horse-cab. Not 
having to hold any luggage sort of compensated 
for other disadvantages about our conveyance, and 
the windows were opened anyhow. We told our 
man to follow the taxi, but he lost it, and he took 
us to the wrong station, and by the time we all 
arrived where we ought to be George S. was hav- 

[73] 



afitoaD mit^ tlje lBop0 



ing a fit on the station platform. He couldn't have 
the luggage stored in their compartments because 
Walter and Grandpa had their own tickets. Really, 
for a nice man like George S., he was unusually 
peevish and perverse this evening. I wasn't sorry 
to be quickly hustled into a little compartment with 
Walter, and I felt like laughing and crying at the 
same time. That railroad accident in "The Whip" 
and the lobster for supper combined to m.ake my 
night ride on that cold little shelf of a bed anything 
but pleasant. Even with the warmth of the 
steamer rug I was so cold that Walter put his 
overcoat over me, and it weighed a ton, I think. 
I thought the second story of a penny bus wobbled 
as much as anything could, but when I thought that 
I didn't know of the night express between London 
and Edinburgh. 

They are having heavy snow *^in the north," 
the chambermaid told me while she was making a 
fire in our chilly little hotel room, but I think she 
must have been mistaken. The snow probably had 
been in that very room just before we entered. 
However, our breakfast was so lovely and warm 
and our letters so cheerful and welcome, and we 
had real scones with our coffee. You remember 
how often you have heard me say : "Nannie, 
your scones are delicious," like Gavin Diesart, the 
"little minister" in Barrie's famous story, v/here 
Babbie and the "minister" have breakfast with the 
old Scotch Nannie, who, when she accepts the tiny 
package of tea from Babbie, says : "Babbie, did 
ye come by it honest, child?" 

[74] 



afitoao muf) tfte 15op0 



As I walked along* Princess street, dear Daddy, 
I felt a delicious sensation of possession, and I 
could remember my grandmother's pride as she 
would say : "Yes, child ; your grandfather's name 
was Paul Douglas, and it's proud I am to be related 
to Ellen Douglas, the Lady of the Lake and the 
mother of the Black Douglas." Then always a 
nice story would come after that, and the treasure 
box opened with its rare collection of miniatures 
or whiskered old gentlemen and short-waisted 
ladies cut out in black paper and pasted on a white 
background. I tried to tell George S. and Grandpa 
about them, but they wouldn't listen. They were 
making other plans. There is always so much 
time taken up making plans, and getting rid of 
money that won't be good in the next country. In 
Germany, France and Holland the conversation 
was really most tedious. English money, how- 
ever, is good in more places. 

We went through the Edinburgh Castle. It is 
magnificent and aw-inspiring, perched up hundreds 
of feet above the valley below. It is not alone for 
its rugged grandeur that it is so interesting, but 
for its historic fame. It dates back to the time 
when the nobles ruled the land, and it gives you a 
sort of sword-in-hand sensation to go through 
places where the walls fairly ring with valor and 
where so many soldiers have lived and died. And 
lots and lots of soldiers live there now in the new 
barracks. It is the most imposing spectacle to see 
the Black Watch drill on the castle esplanade, and 
they look so picturesque in their bonnets and clean 

[75] 



mtmn mm tu i5op0 



white spats and kilts that shake as they walk. The 
same esplanade that is 350 feet in length served at 
one time as a place of public execution. Isn't that 
an awful thought? And as we walked over that 
historic ground I felt so glad to be alive now. 
There was a dear little black kitten looking out of 
one of the port-hole effects in the castle near the 
big gate. It was crying so pitifully that I asked a 
kilted youth who was passing by if he didn't think 
the poor thing was a prisoner in that black hole. 
He only said: "Let it get out as it got in." A 
half hour later v/hen I passed the same place again 
the kitten still was crying, and, after all, perhaps, 
the soldier was right and the kitten a fool. Why 
didn't it back out, anyhow? 

We went up the archway to the King's Bastion, 
and saw that wonderful and famous gun, Mons 
Meg, which is an enormous thing. I patted it in 
spite of its twenty-inch bore. It is now, as I 
learned to say in Germany, "caput." Very near, 
this old gun is a little chapel, the oldest and small- 
est sacred edifice in Scotland. This little chapel 
belonged to Margaret, the Saxon Queen of Mal- 
colm Canmore. She died in 1093, and I am sure 
she had nothing to do with the modern little stove 
in the chapel at present that cheers and warms the 
woman who sells photographs of the place. We 
saw, but I must acknowledge, in a very poor light, 
the old Parliament Hall that has been restored to 
its proper dignity from a whitewashed hospital 
ward to the noblest historic apartment of the Stu- 
art palace. A Scotchman told me it was the 

[76] 



afiroaa mitb tSe T30P& 



noblest, so that is how I know. Otherwise I never 
would have known, the light was so poor. We 
saw the place where the dead Queen Margaret with 
her children made their exit while their uncle, Don- 
al Bane, "thundered at the gate." Think of a 
thing like that, how awful it must have been at the 
time. I am so glad that the habit of thundering at 
gates is entirely out of date. There may be some 
modern inventions like a graphophone or a tele- 
phone, or some one else's daughter taking singing 
lessons. All these sounds may be harrowing at 
times, but nothing compared to thundering at gates. 
Dear me. Daddy, how could I go on telling you 
such things without mentioning the first and fore- 
most and most important — the Regalia of Scotland. 
I saw it. And, as the little book mentioned, "Vul- 
gar curiosity pales before the patriotic pride with 
which a nation views these relics of a glorious 
past." We went up a little curved stairway, and 
in a glass case we beheld Scotland's Pride. There 
is the crown, the sceptre and the sword of state, 
also there is a silver rod that was used as the badge 
of the Lord Treasurer of Scotland. Perhaps you 
know all this, but maybe the girls do not, and these 
treasures are so interesting I must tell you all 
about them. The crown, of course, is pure gold, 
and it is made of two circles, with designs of fleur 
de lis around It and large pearls. Then there are 
other precious stones in It, not polished, but set 
deep in the old-fashioned way. There were ame- 
thysts, emeralds, rubies and jacinths and lots of 
Oriental pearls, also diamonds and sapphires. 

[771 



96roa& Witti tfie 15op0 



There is a crimson velvet affair with ermine in it to 
be worn inside. I suppose it would hurt the head 
if it were not for that, as it looks like a very 
weighty thing to be worn on the head. But think 
of the weight of armor. People then evidently 
didn't mind uncomfortable things. The glory of 
wearing a crown compensated. The man who 
guards the Regalia told us that : "The crown spar- 
kled on the brows of Bruce, likewise the Jameses 
and Mary's auburn hair." The crown dates back 
to 13 14, after Robert Bruce's famous victory of 
Bannockburn. There was an earlier crown in 
Scotland in 1057, when Malcolm Canmore ruled 
the land. The crown I saw to-day was wonderful 
and beautiful enough, and I hope I shall never for- 
get it. We also saw an old-fashioned picture rep- 
resenting the Rev. Mr. James Granger and his wife 
hiding the treasures in the floor of the old church 
in 1652, and once more referring to the little book 
I learned that Scotland would have lost forever the 
regalia had it not been for the clever wife of the 
reverend gentleman who lived and died three hun- 
dred years ago. We also saw the wonderful old 
chest in which the treasures had been hidden, all 
neatly wrapped in linen and found again on the 
4th of February, 1818, by some others and Sir 
Walter Scott. 

We left the castle and once more entered our 
open barouche, and driving through this beautiful 
city we looked upon modern things for awhile, and 
one was death. That is something that is always 
with us. Ancient and modern, it's 2l style that 

[78] 



96roaQ mUb tfte TBcp^ 



never goes, and we will have to face it, too, the 
same as the others that have gone before. Some 
have worn crowns and some have worn rags, but 
they all have had to go. What I saw to-day was 
a box with a flag over it, and four kilted soldiers 
carried it on their shoulders, and others, still with 
the power in their legs to move, walked behind. 
Oh, the glory of that power to live — that power 
that not only moves our legs and arms but our 
minds, our appetites, our all — Our tout ensemble, 
as it were. God help us. 

We left more alive things outside and stepped 
back into history again. This time it was Holy- 
rood Palace. I was almost afraid to speak out 
loud here, it seemed so dreadful to look at a spot 
on the floor with a brass plate on it and to be told 
by some one who remembered that before that 
brass plate was put there there was a dark stain 
on that very spot, and that dark stain was blood, 
and the blood was the life blood of an unfortunate 
Italian musician who died by Lord Darnley's hand, 
without even a moment to say his prayers. Lord 
Darnley was husband to Mary, Queen of Scots, 
and the Queen was in her room at the time, and 
probably saw it all happen. We also saw the four- 
post bed, with its original hangings, in which Mary, 
the Queen slept. She must have been a very short 
little lady, because her bed seemed almost nursery 
size. We also saw the little supper room, with 
the threadbare, moth-eaten tapestries still on the 
wall. It's wonderful how such thingrs last while 



[79] 



atiroati mitb tU IBogg 



their owners pass on taking' their souls to God for 
reckoning*. 

The rest of the drive was through the country, 
and do you know, something that I have observed, 
that in the different countries certain animals seem 
to predominate. Now, for instance, here in Bonnie 
Scotland, it seems to be sheep that I see every 
place that are grazing in the fields. Probably the 
Mary that we all know about who had a little Iamb 
was a Scotch lassie. But in Holland and in Ger- 
many, too, it seemed to be goats that predominated 
mostly as the train hurried past. 



[80] 



DUNFERMLINE. 

Daddy, dear, thrill with me. I have seen and 
heard so much I scarcely know where to start. I 
really am at this very minute in the gentlemen's 
reading room in the Station Hotel in Belfast, Ire- 
land, and the boys are out looking at linens again. 
I will tell you what I know about linens later, but 
just now^ let me take you and the girls firmly but 
gently by the hand and into the first-class railway 
carriage with us on our way to Dunfermline. Over 
here you can travel first or third class, according 
to how much you pay for your ticket. We usually 
travel third, because they say only nobility and 
Americans take the first-class coaches, and the dif- 
ference, except in the price of the ticket, is hard 
to detect. Walter asked the train-man what the 
difference might mean in the first and second class. 
He kept the man talking a long silly while about it, 
telling how there were so many more buttons in 
the upholstery of the first-class coaches, and George 
S. declared it was the color of the plush. The 
prosy old conductor was not at all impressed with 
their wit. He briefly told us it was the rug for 
our feet. So we proceeded to enjoy the rug, and 
all laughed merrily and enjoyed better things than 
the rug. And that was the lovely things that we 
saw. 

We crossed the Forth Bridge, and I can well 

[8i] 



96roaa muh tU 13op^ 



believe what I was told about it that it was the 
labor of 5,000 men for seven years day and night, 
and that it cost over £3,500,000 to build it. The 
bridge is a mile and a half long and that includes 
both ends on land, you know, and the steel in it 
weighs 51,000 tons. I also heard that, even though 
it was so wonderful and lengthy an operation to 
construct such a thing, very few men lost their 
lives while working there. 

I was just a little frightened when Walter told 
me we were to visit his friends, Sir James, and 
Lady Moore, and I did wish I had had a little more 
luggage with me. I had become so accustomed to 
my travelling clothes that I quite know how a nut 
feels about its shell, except, of course, I had the 
privilege not known to nuts, of crawling out now 
and then, and, like my precious dog at home, who 
winter and summer must retain his hide, I pro- 
ceeded once more to be as contented and uncon- 
scious of my coverings as if they had been a coat 
of paint. Anyhow, I have noticed if you put your 
mind on it, any woman can feel mighty dressy with 
a pair of ear-rings and new silk stockings. The 
boys, of course, went to the linen factories at once. 
Dunfermline is so famous for its linens, you know, 
and I proceeded to live the most beautiful part of 
the whole trip. Lady Moore is the personifica- 
tion of charm and womanliness, and I loved her 
from the first moment I saw her. The boys have 
been delightful companions on this trip, and, of 
course, you know when I chose Walter, how I felt 
about him, and it's more so now. But what real 

[82] 



afiroan mub tfte TSops 



woman after weeks and weeks without it doesn't 
crave the companionship of a thimble and a petti- 
coat? 

There is a something delicious in the sound that 
grown ups and children all know, and I pity any- 
one who has never heard and loved it — that is 
the little soft, swishy sound of the mother person 
as her train trundles along and follows her through 
the door. It was such a gown that Lady Moore 
wore. Some people live in houses, others live in 
homes. There are some doors where you hesitate 
and feel the chill, the dark, unused, unhomelike 
sensation even before you enter. Then again, there 
are real true homes that are all the word implies. 
You feel the breath and warmth of love as the 
door opens. It's such a place where children home 
from school call "mother," and the memory of that 
loved word vibrating through the halls for many 
years mellows and makes a mere house a home. 
It was a real home we were visiting to-day. 

It seems as if the whole world was full of sun- 
shine and singing birds this morning when I awoke. 
Lady Moore kindly volunteered to show me Dun- 
fermline. The automobile was left at the entrance 
to the park that we might walk and more leisurely 
enjoy so beautiful a place. I felt like living in 2l 
dream. The sunshine had gone to my head. We 
walked past the club house for the exclusive pleas- 
ure of the very elderly Scotchmen, who, having 
arrived at the age where pottering about in a 
garden with nothing to think of but an occasional 
game of chess, and numerous pipes of tobacco, or 

[83] 



96toat! mitb tbt 15op0 



just to bask in the sunshine to watch the birds and 
flowers, and to live again the careless free life of 
boyhood without the activity was the sum of their 
day's work. This club house is maintained, like 
many other places in Dunfermline, through the 
bounty of Mr. Carnegie, and, as if imitation really 
was the sincerest form of flattery, the entire com- 
munity of elderly Scotchmen have affected the 
same style of beard as their benefactor. 

We walked up the rugged path and around and 
through the ruins of the castle and saw the rooms 
where the monks of old had lived and slept and 
prayed. We stood in an open place that had once 
been the kitchcen of the monastery, and with a 
big sniff I could almost imagine the savory odors 
that had risen from that very spot. The well- 
cooked meats, the flagons of wines, the birds served 
with their feathers around them, like we see in 
feast-day pictures of days gone by. I imagine the 
monks had plenty to eat, because they are all so 
beautifully rounded in their pictures. The fresh 
air had made me overly hungry anyhow, and it was 
a safer topic of conversation and a more pleasant 
thought to look out of the hole that once had been 
a window, and see the hills all gloriously brown 
and green for November, and little streams trick- 
ling down through the rocks and mossy nooks and 
the tall wild ferns grown brown for winter. As 
we looked down the steep steps of logs and moss 
and listened to the birds singing and inhaled the 
fragrance of the woods, I tried to imagine I could 
see the pious old gentlemen with their shining 

I84] 



96roaD mUb t&e T5og0 



crowns and sandaled feet, trudging up the steep 
steps chanting their evening prayer. Dunfermline 
is full of treasures, and first I must tell you of the 
Abbey, that was started building in 1050 by Queen 
Margaret. It is an exquisite example of Norman 
architecture, and I had plenty of leisure to thor- 
oughly enjoy it. It is so nice to have those dear 
boys off my mind for awhile, and Lady Moore has 
a delightful way of enjoying things quietly. 

Really the way I have had to hurry sometimes 
was enough to make me fairly dizzy. Under a 
beautiful carved pulpit in the Abbey Church is the 
tomb of Robert the Bruce. I stood so near that I 
put the toe of my shoe on the bronze plate under 
which rests forever whatever may remain of Rob- 
ert. He wasn't very pretty in his picture, but I 
don't think it was a good likeness. 

We also went through the Turkish bath building, 
another gift of Mr. Carnegie's. It is a most com- 
plete, artistic and luxurious building, and the fee 
for a bath is only a shilling. I felt like the girl 
in the threadbare story who had the opportunity to 
stay in a New York hotel with a private bath-room 
and wished so much it had been Saturday night. 
Pardon that allusion, and come back to this Scot- 
tish bath-house, with its splendid swimming-pool 
and gymnasium room, where a sweet young thing 
is playing a game of battledore and shuttlecock 
over a tennnis net with a red-jacketed attendant. 
The young girl's costume was so simple and grace- 
ful, merely a little blue serge slip, like our little 
girls about ten years old at home might wear. A 

[85] 



96toaa muti tfie IBop.'^ 



black girdle was tied loosely around her waist. We 
also saw Skibo Castle from a distance, and rode 
in the automobile near the under side of the Forth 
Bridge. It is more wonderful to look up at than 
to go quickly over in the train. 

After looking at all the gifts to his home town, 
we visited the little cottage where Mr. Carnegie 
was born. The second story room had two beds 
built in the wall and besides a little fireplace and 
a small table to hold the log-book there is nothing 
else there except, of course, the elderly person who 
shows with such pride the beautiful tribute to his 
mother that Mr. Carnegie has so recently written 
in the book. I wrote my name not far under it, 
I was so delighted with his sentiment : *'It is a 
pleasure to visit the home of one's childhood when 
one had a heroine for a mother." 

On our way home we stopped to pay a call on 
a most lovely lady who lived in a most picturesque 
home in a delightful old-fashioned garden, with a 
rugged natural hedge, and lovely real, live tame 
peacocks that came up to the automobile to give a 
friendly greeting. I would love to own a peacock, 
but dear knows what a poor companion I would 
find it when I didn't want it around. 



[86] 



BELFAST. 

I have been motoring- around Ireland with the 
boys, seeing the linen in all its stages, and also 
seeing this picturesque country. It is not an un- 
familiar sight to see women barefooted, not like 
the dancers on the stage in Vienna and Paris and 
in all other civilized countries that look for shocks, 
but just plain poor barefooted women with their 
heads tied up in shawls. I was surprised at the 
boys that they could not give me a good reason for 
finding any more beauty in a naked ankle that 
danced for money than in a naked ankle that 
trudges through the mire because it can't afford a 
stocking. Why should a rosy apple that you pay, 
what Walter calls "dreadful money" for in a New 
York shop, taste any better than the same rosy 
thing under a tree in Ireland? The girl we saw in 
the road to-day was young and pretty, I think, and 
the head shawl was becoming to the back of her 
head. She was afraid of the automobile, but she 
didn't run like the cows and pigs. She simply 
turned her back and shivered. I talked for ever so 
long about this. Was it modesty or embarrass- 
ment? Is it lack of funds or is it lack of public 
schools that makes women seemingly so shiftless? 

Not all the Irish women defy draughts like the 
little one in the road. The fine healthy specimens 
we saw in a vaudeville performance one evening 

[87] 



astoaa muh tht isoys 



at the Hippodrome wore quite heavy cotton dull 
black affairs, and in the chorus with them was a 
sweet-faced little crippled girl, with a beautiful 
voice. She was dressed in a short white frock 
with a blue sash, like the others. Her poor crip- 
pled legs were pathetic. Think of a deformed girl 
in New York making her living on the vaudeville 
stage. No matter how sweet her voice and face 
might be, how many of us would have the charity 
to overlook those wretched poor little limbs? 
Grandpa said she looked as if she were bent on 
having a good time, wicked person that he is. We 
are all looking forward for the trip home, and 
maybe I won't be delighted to see you and the 
girls. Be sure to be on the nearest point of land 
when we arrive and watch us go through the ago- 
nies of the hospitalities of the American Custom 
House. 

Wave an American flag and just shout ^'Walter" 
as loud as you can, so we will know the right 
bunch of faces to look to for the familiar ones. 
This land of second-story street cars may have its 
charm and I don't doubt it, but Uncle Sam for me 
every time, and there is not one of us who won't be 
glad to see the Goddess of Liberty in her green 
gown waiting for us to sail into her beautiful 
harbor. 



[88] 



TWO DAYS FROM HOME. 

Dear Daddy, I write that "Home" with a capi- 
tal H. We are having glorious weather, and, while 
the sea has been a little rough at times, it hasn't 
been rough enough to empty the majority of the 
deck chairs. There are some very interesting peo- 
ple on board, and some wonderful new costumes 
are being worn that they may land in our beautiful 
country as used property, I suppose. There is some- 
thing about this draughty life at sea that makes 
one awfully glad she can afford silk stockings. I 
hope you are all watching the newspapers for the 
ship to come in, and I suppose by wireless you al- 
ready know some of what I am about to tell you. 
To begin at the beginning, when we looked at the 
sketch of the arrangement of tables in the dining 
room and found our names at one of the side tables 
with two other names, an indignation meeting went 
on at once. Three mad men went to the head stew- 
ard and demanded an explanation. It was easy. 
A young lady with a pocketbook (we guessed that 
much), had asked that herself and friend should be 
put with our party. Simply speaking, it meant that 
we were to spend all our meal hours in the com- 
panionship of Marianna Murphy and her little 
French beau. I'm glad for her sake she wasn't 
married when you hear what happened later on, 
and I'm sort of sorry for the poor girl anyhow. 

[89] 



afitoaa mitb tu TBops 



She didn't know we didn't want her little friend 
along, and she didn't happen to know either that 
both George S. and Walter had seen him before. 
He had given them very nice French shaves on prev- 
ious trips to France, and little Marceau, had he been 
consulted, would not have cared to be placed where 
Marianna considered so sociable a spot. There was 
not any other place in the dining room, so we had 
to make the best of it, and after the first display of 
gorgeous dinner gown Marianna retired to the 
tender care of the stewardess. The next morning 
at breakfast Marceau likewise was missing. Grand- 
pa thinks he is one of the people the warning signs 
refer to, because he spends nearly all of his time in 
the smoking room playing cards, and he evidently 
watches from a balcony the most suitable times for 
his meals because after the first offense and glance 
of recognition, although no words were said, he 
has never looked at either Walter or George S. 
again. I suppose a barber does get a lasting im- 
pression of a face. He has to look at it so care- 
fully to prevent an accident. 

We were all sitting in the veranda cafe after 
dinner yesterday, and I was playing about the one- 
thousandth game of solitaire with Grandpa. George 
S. and Walter were talking of the tendencies of 
unreliable salesmen selling samples, and the con- 
versation was so much like Potash and Perlmutter 
that I wanted to listen. Just them a steward came 
up with a tray with a card on it, saying the cap- 
tain would like to speak to them both. Without 
even telling us what it was §ibout, they hurried 

[90]! 



96toaD mUb tfte 15op0 



away, and, of course, Grandpa and I thought 
George S. at last was to have his chance to run 
the ship. But far be that from the case. Two 
whole wondering hours went by before they re- 
turned, and Grandpa was taken away to be whisp- 
pered to, and so was I. 

Walter told me, the captain said, shortly after 
leaving Liverpool a wireless had been received, with 
the message that a hotel in Paris, the police also 
and several jewelers were looking for a man sup- 
posed to be on our steamer. He was described as 
being slight, dark complexioned, with a small mous- 
tache, and was a first-class barber in the Hotel G. 
The name was Alloway and considerable moneys 
had disappeared simultaneously with the person de- 
scribed, and no one so far on the ship had recog- 
nized him. The Captain asked the advice of the 
American gentlemen and inquired if they had in 
the smoking room or elsewhere seen any one act- 
ing in any way suspicious or seemingly travelling 
under an assumed name and disguise. Reluctantly, 
they acknowledged having known Alloway, alias 
Marceau, when he wore a scrap of a moustache and 
shaved them in Paris the season previously, and I 
am glad to say they did not tell that his betrothed 
was on the ship. 

Her picture will get in the papers soon enough, 
dear knows, and she has so much to learn. 

Marceau has disappeared from the smoking 
room. His meals are being served to him pri- 
vately, and we have not seen or heard anything 
more about him. This evening at supper Marianna 

[91] 



asroaa mith tu tbops 



appeared very pale but gorgeous in a lavender satin. 
She was really quite the most elaborate creature on 
the ship, for while the English girls on board wore 
evening clothes they are quite simple and unas- 
suming. 

The three Japanese ladies, who are making their 
first trip with their husbands, wear their tailored 
suits all the time. Marianna felt quite like herself 
again, and had spent the entire afternoon in her 
steamer chair in the hope that ''Marceau" would 
come and join her for a happy little while, and she 
could not account for not receiving a little note 
from him for the past two days. She wanted to 
know, if I knew if he was suffering from ''mal de 
mer," and if we didn't think him charming, etc. I 
had so little to tell her that I just enthused about 
the enormous three-stone engagement ring and lis- 
tened to the wonderful secret of his wedding gift 
to her that he was to bring so carefully through the 
Custom House. She was quite sure I wouldn't tell, 
and I didn't. She told me of her gorgeous wedding 
gown and how papa had promised to start them at 
housekeeping. She was so sure her lover was so 
clever he would succeed in any business he might 
enter, and I soon discovered she knew nothing what- 
soever about his former occupation. 

The boys made some excuse about it being too 
cold for me on deck, where they were going to 
smoke awhile for a change, and there was nothing 
for me to do but sit with Marianna and listen to 
the concert. However, I did advise her not to do 
as she wanted to do, and that was inquire for ''Mar- 

[92] 



abtoao mitf) tbt 15op0 



ceau" at the desk and get the steward to take a note 
to him. I tried to convince her that he would think 
more of her if she just left him alone until it was 
time to go on shore, when papa was to be there to 
meet them. I can't help but wonder how it all wnll 
turn out, and even while I wonder I forget her in 
my joy to be once more w4th you and the girls and 
home again. 



[93] 



The Eternal Evangel — Solomon S. Hilscher $i .50 

A New Philosophy of Life — J. C. Coggins i . 00 

Romance of the Universe — B. T. Stauber i .50 

In the Early Days — Adelaide Hickox i . 50 

The New Theology — By a Methodist Layman — 
Hamilton White i .00 

Miscellaneous 

Anvil Sparks — Radical Rhymes and Caustic 

Comments, by Wilby Heard , 75 

The Medical Expert and Other Papers — Louis J. 

Rosenberg 50 

The Little Sufferers (dealing with the Abuses of 

the Children's Societies) — G. Martin i . 50 

Eureka, a Prose Poem — S. H. Newberry i . 00 

Rust (a play in four acts) — ^Algernon Tassin (of 

Columbia University) i . 00 

Poems by Charles Guinness i . 00 

Prohibition and Anti-Prohibition — Rommel, 

Ziegler & Herz 1 . 00 

Gay.Gods and Merry Mortals — Verse by Robert J. 

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The Rubaiyat of the College Student — Ned Nafe .50 
The Deluge of England, and Other Poems — James 

Francis Thierry i .00 

The Dragon's Teeth — a Philosophical and Eco- 
nomic Work — ^T. M. Sample 1 .00 

Achsah, the Sister of Jairus — Mabel Cronise 

Jones 1 . 00 

The Marriage Bargain Counter — Daisy Deane . . i . 50 
Building a New Empire — Nathaniel M. Ayers. . 1.50 

Marriage and Divorce — Jeanette Laurance i . 00 

The Clothespin Brigade — Clara L. Smiley. 75 

"Forget It"— Ida Von Claussen i .50 

The Last Word: a Philosophical Essay — James 

and Mary Baldwin i .00 

Travel 

Eight Lands in Eight Weeks (illustrated by 90 
drawings) — Marcia P. Snyder 1 . 25 

Eliza and Etheldreda in Mexico — Patty Guthrie 
(illustrated) i .25 

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